


What is Said and What is Done

by seraphenanox



Series: Creations Poignant and Transcendent [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Canonical Character Death, Dark, Eventual Relationships, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kid Tony, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Tony Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6633811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphenanox/pseuds/seraphenanox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony learns about his father's secrets.  And with all knowledge there is a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 5

**Author's Note:**

> The relationship part is towards the end when it is more age appropriate. 
> 
> I am not sorry for this. 
> 
> Warning, there are references to child abuse, torture, and allusions to insanity in this story. Also this is a work in progress. Like all my stories I can't help going back over things already posted and tweaking them here and there. All the chapters are written and will be posted once I think they are good enough. 
> 
> Remember: Feedback feeds a writer's soul
> 
> So this was born when I was struggling with Dark Inside, which is still be worked on. Its a foundation story for something that is still in the outline stages. It's also the result of being up too late and having someone send you Calvin and Hobbes Cartoons.

** Age 5 **

 “-here?” he didn’t know that voice. Tony shoved the blanket in his mouth to keep from screaming.

“My son sleeps up here, but he won’t disturb us.” His father rarely came up here and never ever during the night. 

“You seem sure of that, Herr Stark.”

There is a sharp bark of laughter, his father in a foul mood.  “Even if he did wake up he won’t get out of bed.”

Both men laughed. He heard their footsteps. Their voices fading until Tony could no longer make out the words.  His father was right though, he was too scared, too much a baby, too afraid.

Pride made Tony force his eyes open.  His hands reached for the soft furry body at his side and a pair of glassy eyes winked back at him reassuring in the dim light.  For a moment he just curled around the bear and hid his face in the fur.

Rubbing his face into it Tony inhaled the smells: lavender and baking.  A tiny time capsule of good things collected over the last few years.  Amid the circuit boards, books, papers, and tool, the bear looked so very out of place. Just an old fashioned toy with tan fur and a dark blue jacket and a jaunty blue army cap Tony never put it down.  The glass eyes, actual glass eyes were gray and a black mask had been sewn around them.  He was always there to be cuddled or carried when the room was too dark or his father was too loud.  His father wouldn’t touch it, averting his gaze whenever he saw it.

Another shadow moved under his door and Tony ducked back under the covers.   Jarvis always left the door slightly open, just enough for some light to filter in.  Tony had wanted a nightlight, just something small to give him a beacon in the quiet dark. Howard had ripped it out the last time berating Tony that only babies needed such a thing.  Only babies are afraid of the dark, he’d said with a sneer and that smell on his breath.

“What do we do Bucky?” he whispered.  Aunt Peggy had whispered the name to Tony, a secret between them when she had presented it with solemn formality and a bright red smile. 

_“Like Bucky Barnes?” he asked._

_Her smile turned little wobbly and Tony had tensed looked away from the adult._

_“Just like Bucky Barnes.” Tony had noticed though that her smile no longer reached her eyes and Tony had clutched the bear even tighter hoping that she wouldn’t take it away now._

_But she hadn’t.  He could watch when she stood up.  He could hear the click of her heels. An angry sound that had been echoed by his father’s shouting minutes later.  Tony had buried his face into the soft blue fabric until Jarvis had pulled him away._

Eyes firmly shut he wished for the shadows to go away drawing comfort from the only toy his father had ever let him keep, gift or not.  It had survived his father’s rampages and rants.  Where other things had been tossed or even once burned, Howard pretended Bucky wasn’t even there.

“What should we do?” he whispered finally daring to look out from under the blankets. Under the door the light was once again a solid glow. He couldn’t hear the voices or even the sound of their footsteps anymore.

Tony read the uncertainty in those eyes.

 “What would the Captain do?” Tony’s voice wobbled only a little.  The cap slid down a little covering the bear’s face as if embarrassed.  The Captain, there was only one in the Stark household, Captain America.  In his father’s eyes there was no one braver, more capable or intelligent.  Any comparison between the man and the boy was never in Tony’s favor.  

But the in the story’s Tony had read, Captain Roger always had a plan, always knew what to do.  It was always successful and always right. And Tony tried to live up to it, tried to find the right thing, but Howard always looked at him with hard disappointed eyes. 

The chill of the floor almost had Tony scurrying back into bed, almost.  But with Buck clamped in his arms knew he could do this; he could do anything as long as Bucky stayed with him. 

This was his floor, a maze of rooms that no one, but Jarvis and maybe the maid ever bothered with.  His mother didn’t, when she wanted to see him Tony was always brought down to her rooms or the living room.  His father only came when he was mad at Tony, when Tony had failed at something or when his father suspected that Tony was hiding something in his room, be it a comic book or a toy.

Jarvis was the one to tuck in him at night, to help his with his bath or get dressed.  Anna sometimes too, but no one else even pretended.

The abandoned rooms had been jungles to explore or Nazi bases to overrun.  The stairs in the back hall way were secret passages to buried treasure or at least some of Anna’s cookies.  The ones up to the attic and the walkways Tony knew to be catwalks in an enemy compound.  The shrouded office that sometimes Tony would pretend was his where the documents left abandoned in the drawers were communications or puzzles to be solved.

He knew these rooms better than any other part of the house, all the empty bedrooms, and the glass fronted conservatory that smelled more of dust than plants. On long dark nights he had crept through every hall, memorizing all the places where the floor boards squeaked, all the hiding spots too.  There had been adventures with the Howling Commandos and the Captain.  He had rescued the man a hundred times from the ocean.  He and Bucky had fought the Nazi’s side by side under the super soldier’s command. 

Those had been in the daylight.  Not in the silver limned darkness. 

Tony had learned to walk with silent steps, to scout for people around him.  He’d learned those lessons through trial and error, sneaking down into the kitchen, or trying to bypass a party his parents were hosting. 

Creeping down the hall he kept to the sides and stepped over the noisy spots.   On his belly Tony slithered up the stairs, stopping when he could hear the voices growing louder and the light pouring out of the office. 

“We need more weapons.”  The strange man was saying when Tony crawled to the top.  He couldn’t see them they were further inside the room and the door was partially closed. 

“I am aware of that Strucker.” His father said sounding annoyed.  Tony winced it was never a good idea to annoy his father.  “But I can only shift so many at a time. If SHIELD gets suspicious –“

“SHIELD is no longer a threat now that Director Carter has retired.” The other man countered.  “She’s too wrapped up in her family’s affairs to bother us now.”

“What did you do?” Howard snapped back.

“Does it really matter Herr Stark?  Carter was an annoyance. “

The shift of a floor board snapped Tony’s attention from the conversation.  Someone, something was coming.  Limbs trembling, his eyes darted trying to remember, trying to think of a place to hide. 

He ran to the closest room, bare and empty he ducked into the closet, folding himself as small as possible in the darkness.

More footsteps, closer in the hall and Tony closed his eyes listening with all his might; wishing with all his might.  The creak of the door thundered in Tony’s ears as he clutched the bear.  He mouthed wishes into the fur.  Maybe he hadn’t bothered his father, maybe he hadn’t disturbed him.

But one step and then another into the room towards the door.

Through the crack in the door Tony dared to look.  A tall man, taller and broader in the shoulders than this father stood in the center of the room and Tony knew he was searching, really searching with a tilt to his head.  That wasn’t good anything out of place even the smallest hint would be enough for this man to look further.

But Tony couldn’t take his eyes off him.  The center was away from the windows more shadows than moonlight.  Faint streams of light pushed back the darkness just enough to see that his long hair was dark, but there was a hint of shine.  Something metallic and no doubt shiny; not his shirt that was stiff and solid like the vest that Agent Fury wore, but this man had buckles on his.  The mat black spots Tony knew what those were; he’d seen enough of his father’s guns to recognize them.

When the man took another step forward with barely the whisper of sound, Tony held his breath. He dared not shift or even twitch now. And when he moved again it was into the shaft of moonlight and Tony’s eyes widened.  The glint of metal was his arm. 

The boy studied every detail from the realistic curve and down to the detailed articulation of the fingers that clenched and unclenched.  Only a red star interrupted the gray and Tony’s eyes snapped to it.  He’d see that before.  He’d been mesmerized by the level of articulation and had stared at it forgetting that he had snuck into his father’s workshop, and had looked around while Howard had stepped out.   And had been pulled away from it by his ear and tossed out against the wall to the angry man’s bellowing for Jarvis. 

Again there was the barest of sounds only audible in the absolute silence.

With huge eyes he watched those fingers curl on the door.  The hinges didn’t dare protest when the door slid open. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and the Captain would have never hid. Tony just held on tighter to the bear and waited while the first of the tears slid down his face. 

If his father had made this arm, then the man was a friend of his father’s.  Anything Tony did would be reported to him.

He searched.  They didn’t scan not like so many adult did.  No, ever corner was investigated, every shadow studied.  Quick and efficient and it wasn’t long before Tony was staring up into those eyes. 

 Grey blue eyes, blank and empty Tony couldn’t look away.  Nothing in them, not anger, not annoyance.  Tony remained still and silent as they traveled across every inch of him from his dirty feet to the tangle curls.  When they shifted to Bucky Tony clenched the bear tighter reflexively. 

The man frowned almost looking puzzled. 

“What are you doing?” Howard’s voice snapped from the hall.

“I thought I heard something.” The man said.  The accent wasn’t the same as the other stranger, Russian, Tony had heard the same from one of his father’s old partners.  

Tony waited for the man to reveal him, to tell Howard.

“Well?” His father sounded impatient now and Tony felt the first tear slide down his face.

“Nothing.”  The Russian said closing the door.

The voices started up again his father and the German man.  Then three pairs of footsteps in the hall.  In the darkness Tony waited until the last of them faded away and began to count.  He waited until he’d reached one hundred before leaving the safety of the closet.  The lights had been turned off, the curtain closed but he managed in the dark. 

They had already moved past his room and towards the back stairs when he heard it, and he couldn’t tell who had said it.

“Hail Hydra.”


	2. Age 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark is a very intelligent child. However if you have every had a kid work with his imagination you know that sometimes things like reality, history and geography don’t always match up. So please keep that in mind.

**Age 7**

He can tell in the way his footsteps echo on the marble floor in the hall.  It’s in the way the whispers of the house are unimpeded.  He’s alone.

There is no point to crying about it, but Tony shivered wrapping his arms around himself.

He had seen Jarvis and Anna off.  They had hugged him and there were smiles, real smiles for the wrapped box that Tony had held out not daring to look.  But Anna’s hugs were the best and Jarvis ruffled his hair.  They had deserved this night out on the town.  Tony had listened to them whisper and joke all week about their anniversary.  So Tony had just waved them goodbye trying to be reassured that they would really be back in the morning. 

He had lingered in the kitchen stretching out the time until he had to leave the comfort of the kitchen for his room.  The clatter of footsteps and rattle of luggage pulled him away from the dinner Anna had made him trying to seek out the source and the reason.

Howard and Maria with a small pile of luggage arguing in the foyer while Tony slipped up onto the wide staircase listening to Howard grumble about idiots in the Los Angeles office while Maria ignored him and poke at something with equal ease.  She only stopped when she saw him in the shadows of the banister.  Her kisses were quick things, her lips never really touching his cheek.    Maria left him with a muttered ‘Be good for Jarvis’ and another of those fake kisses.  Howard barely bothered just glared at him the man’s eyes boring into his and skipping entirely over Bucky seated next to him.  They were out of the door with Howard still griping.  “For god’s sakes we’ll back Monday don’t coddle the boy.”

Now the only real sound was the heavy tick of the giant clock in the salon.  If he listened though Tony though he could hear the rumbles and mutters of the shadows, he didn’t want to listen to those.  Didn’t want to think about how ever creak and groan of the house echoed so loud, instead he focused on the bear. 

The eyes were slightly mismatched now, one a newer bluer gray than the other.  Rage still raced through his tiny frame just thinking about it.  How Ty had slammed Bucky onto the concrete again and again while Howard and even Obi had just watched, one with satisfaction and there with amusement.  The son of one of Obi’s friends had just held him back with one arm laughing the entire time.  Tony hadn’t been able to escape the grip at first but then he had.  The men had moved fast when Tony had savagely bitten Ty refusing to let go no matter how much the blonde had screamed.

Jarvis had been the only one able to pry Tony loose.  The butler had scooped up both boy and bear off to the kitchen.  The boy had gotten a halfhearted lecture about politeness to guests and more firm one about retaliation.  The bear had gotten a new eye carefully placed and sewn by Anna.

Tony loved and hated those mismatched eyes.  He just couldn’t look at the bluer one and not think about the empty man staring down at him.  Tony couldn’t help but compare how that new eye matched so closely to those staring at him in his nightmares.

Tony was too old for a toy was what Howard snarled anytime he saw Tony dragging the bear in his wake.   But Bucky still went with him everywhere.  The bear would perch on the desk while Tony did his homework.  He would sit in another chair in the kitchen for meals. 

Howard always said the Captain never left anyone behind and neither would Tony.

Bucky slid a little on the marble leaning up against Tony’s thigh. He stared down at him for a moment.  Before the _incident_ the bear always looked a little mischievous as it he was hiding a smile just out a sight.  Jarvis said the stuffing had shifted, but Tony knew that wasn’t it.  Something had changed and now Bucky was worried and sad.   Tony followed the direction of the bears gaze and how one of the arms was pointing towards the back of the house. 

 A smirk scrawled across Tony’s face, because Bucky was right.

“We need provisions.” Tony said picking up the bear.  “No team ever goes off without provisions.”

He’s just tall enough to reach where his backpack was kept in the little alcove between the kitchen and the dining room.  The books and papers spilled over the table.  Quick hands pulled bottles of water and two apples.  But he has to slide the chair back into the pantry.  Anna hides the good snacks high up out of reach.  Even with the chair he has to stretch and stretch to reach the box.  Two Twinkies are carefully added to the pack.  Bucky was settled in to guard them; he could be trusted to make sure no one ate them.

Howard bragged and bragged about his security system.  Tony had learned his cheek stinging never to contradict or correct his father, ever.  So he never mentioned that he could get past the cameras in the back hallway or that the system itself was dead easy to get into.  No what he can’t understand is how people don’t see it, it’s obvious to him how to loop in the codes and make sure that it’s reporting what he wants it to, but then he knew he’s smarter than most people.  But this, this is so obvious its painful.

And the lock, Tony doesn’t have words to describe how easy it is to bypass the lock that Howard uses on his lab.  A long time ago Tony had picked up tools, small little tool from Howard’s box.  Either his father hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared because he never took them back.  With the pick and the screwdriver Tony has the lock undone in seconds. 

When he stepped into the room the lights flicker on and Tony breathed in the smell of ozone and metal. The comforting aromas of welding and grease are heavenly without the miasma of sweat and alcohol to spoil it.

He can’t take it all in, and has to take it in one at a time.  All the prototypes scattered over every available space, the blueprints tacked up on the walls.  Scrambling up on a stool Tony pulled himself down the line inspecting each and every one.

Eyes narrowed and lips moving he reads through each design, his small fingers tracing the diagrams.  He his nose wrinkled over any weapon and he pushed on to the next.  Any engine or electronic he stays with painstakingly working through the ideas that Howard had jotted down. 

The engine really sparked his thoughts.  Howard was trying for bigger, faster, and powerful motor.  Not fuel efficient at all Tony realized minutes into his study and he can see where his father was getting stymied.   It’s a simple fix though and one he’s surprised Howard hasn’t thought of.  The pencil was in his hand ready to mark down the answer, but it hovers over the paper.  His hand shakes.  He could make the change, but his father would know he had been down here.  Howard would figure out how he’d done it, or worse make Tony tell him.  And would it be worth it, the possibility that Howard might be happy, might be proud of him.  Would that probability be worth the loss of ever coming down here again?

But his mind is screaming too.  It’s so simple, not Howard’s design, but how to make a bigger engine one that is not only everything that Howard is looking for but also has some fuel economy and he can already see the line of how to make it safer.  He bites his lip trying to decide, trying to think of how to do both his eyes flickering around the room.

There! Shoved under one of the workbenches, the ends trampled and smudged with boot prints.  Rescuing the pad of paper Tony sets to work scribbling through the rush of ideas in his head.  Just like a modern engine, but with a shift here, and redefine it here and…

It’s the draft of cold air that shivers the back of Tony’s neck and makes his head jerk up. His eyes clearing in the span of adrenaline fueled heartbeats.  But there is no angry Howard at the door nor is it even opening.  Pencil tucked behind his ear Tony slipped of the stool trying to discover the source.

There, in the far wall Tony spied it, a curious gap in the bricks.  Edging closer he can feel the stronger draft now and just barely hear the way the wind whistles through the break.  Reaching up to touch it Tony jerked back when his soft touch is enough to make the wall move.

Wide and wild eyes follow the arc as the section folds back, the edges expanding and moving just like a door.  He stepped close enough to see through the passage.  The spill of light from the lab was just enough to illuminate the landing and the descending stairs. 

“Do you think we should?” He asked craning his head to look at Bucky’s mismatched stare. But the cap had fallen down and Tony frown.  Figures, he’s sleeping while he’s supposed to be on guard duty.

Grabbing one of the flashlights from a nearby shelf Tony clicks it on with a smile.  Scout first, move second.  Howard had always said that the Captain had the best intelligence, the most information possible before making his move.  So that is what Tony will do.

The beam danced around the landing, first illuminating a light switch, but Tony doesn’t move yet.  He searches for more and find it. Not well hidden but still there another Security box.

Two flicks of his screwdriver and a glance had Tony mentally going through all the words that he’d heard Howard use.  He’d never say them out loud though.  Nope, one round of Jarvis washing his mouth out had been enough.

But this was supposed to be better.  Someone didn’t put inferior security on a secret base.  Maybe it was something left over from the War, or maybe it was something from SSR.  All the possibilities circled around his head until Tony was dancing on his toes wanting to see, desperate to know. 

Scout, plan, and then move. 

And he would.  This one was less of a challenge than the upstairs box.  A few adjustments with his screw driver and moving a few wires and the light flickered on, first above him and then down.  A frizzle of apprehension tightened his stomach see just how far down those lights go.

He finally it echoes back up, the clang of something unlocking and the groan of a door.  Yes, it was a secret base.  Would it still have the maps and plans in it?  Would there be things that Howard had worked on with the Captain down here?

Fingers clenching tightly around the flash light Tony took a deep breath and the first step.

It’s so far down to get to the door and he can’t help but gape at the interior.

The lights were bright and intense, it’s not dirty and dusty like Tony had imagined, but sterile and clean.  Machines hummed and Tony heard the whirl of fans.  Huge banks of computers line on wall, cables and wires neatly tucked and bound snake around the edges of the room.  Some split off to terminals and other to power relays.  Some move over to things that Tony has no name for, no concept of. 

He’s seen servers before, Stark Industries has an entire room full of them, and Howard took him to see them once.  But Tony had never dreamed that his father would have any of the priceless machines here.  Why wouldn’t they be up in the lab where the older man could work with them?

Tony’s shoulders drooped a little when he realized he knew the answer.  Him, Howard had brought all these things down here to make sure that they were safe from him. 

But he wouldn’t.  Wouldn’t touch them, wouldn’t even go near them. 

Turning off the flashlight he resolutely turned away from the servers to study the rest of the treasure trove around him.

He knew the terminals; he’d seen them before and even gotten to work with them when one of the SI employees was trying to impress Howard.  But others he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Tall stainless steel tanks with coils of hoses that led to vats and machines that he had no context for.

Some were hot to his touch where other were coated with swirls of frost. 

Step by step he traces all the wires, cords and hoses.  He followed the coils to their ends, some to socket, and other to more machines or even once a computer. 

He may not understand what it is he’s looking at, but Tony could tell that everything begins or ends with the last item.  A tank of some sort, mostly of metal, but he’s also calculating the differences.  The wires and tubes, the dials and readouts are strange enough, but the hatch is more than perplexing.  The view ports are too high for him to look into.  Whatever this is there is no light inside.  He’s calculated that it’s almost seven feet tall but the diameter is only three or four which makes it impossible to be another room. 

Chair, turning around he studied the place a little more carefully.  Yes, there is a chair.  He winced at the noise in the large room as he drags it closer.  Climbing up he finally was tall enough to see.

Staggering back Tony almost fell off the chair and slams down on the seat.  He gulped in air trying to breathe.  He couldn’t have seen that.  Sucking in more air he had to try again, had to know if it was real or his imagination.  Light, he needs better light.  Flashlight in hand he clambers back up for another look.  He can't touch the metal, not where the cold is deep enough to burn. But he has to know.

Frost cakes the glass, distorting what he saw, pulling up his sleeve over his free hand Tony scrubbed it clean and then holds up the flashlight.

A face, it wasn’t his imagination.  The dark brown hair, long he can tell from the way the back brushes the man’s shoulders, but it’s been pulled back away from the face giving Tony a clear view of the pale white skin.  Nibbling on a nail Tony wasn’t certain, he can’t see the eyes, and those are closed.

Moving the flashlight he can see a little further into the tank.  It’s the black vest that teases, but the arm, that’s what pulls the memory.  The metal arm is just as frosted, and there is not enough of an angle; he can’t get the flashlight to shine that far in, but Tony would bet that there is a red star on the outside edge of that arm.

But why?  Why would Howard keep a body in his lab?  Was he dead?  Did Howard kill him?

He’s moving without conscious thought, down the chair and over to one of the terminals.  Tony isn’t stupid, it’s a secret, but there are just too many questions and no answer except.

His small fingers move across the keyboard.  With each passing moment they gather confidence and speed.  Concepts and ideas burst through is brain like star bursts.

Reports, he knows by the headings, Howard wrote these Tony has seen hundreds where Howard's style on the heading: Time, Date, Subject.  

Alive, that’s first thing Tony pulled from all of the data.  Whoever he is, he is alive in the cryochamber.  He takes the time and reviewed everything, every piece of information.  Some it makes no sense.  How can someone still be alive when they are frozen?  But there is a monitor that records a heartbeat ever fifteen minutes. 

Some do, like the temperature and records about how often it has to be corrected and possible causes to any variations.  It’s these clues and the maintenance notes that give Tony the context to figure out what each machine actually does.  With each passage he went to the actual machine and compared what he was seeing to what the notes said it did. 

Reading over the passages about upgrades cycles and repair Tony realized how old this stuff was.  It looked more like something out of the science fiction books he managed to read at the library, but here he saw that some of this stuff was built back in the 50s and was modeled off things that were even older.  His whistle echoed in the room, because that was ancient.

And never has there been much done to replace or even improve it.  Howard’s missed so many ways and Tony feels that familiar itch.  Machines, poor unappreciated machines if someone just cared to try could be so much better.

But a person, there is a living person in there too.  The Empty Man, the one that could have easily told that there was little boy lurking in a closet, one that heard ever word of their private conversation, but he hadn’t.   And Tony didn’t know why.

Howard had built that arm.  Howard had given commands that the man had followed. 

Why hadn’t he told Howard?  Why had he closed the door and walked away?

Tony shuddered at the thought that the man might be in the chamber because of him.

Diving back into the computer, he ignored the data.  Text files, the directory said that there were text files in there. 

Opening the first one Tony started to read, hoping to find something anything really to say why and maybe just maybe prove that it wasn’t Tony’s fault.

He flew through pages of justifications, explanations, and ramblings.  Tony just absorbed Howard’s words taking them in without hesitation or question.  This was the elder’s work and Tony needs to understand.  Whole sections make no sense when Howard rambles on about the ends and the means.  He can’t figure out why his father would use words like tragedies and best hopes.  There is no logic and no proofs for what Howard thinks and Tony is forced to conclude that maybe, just maybe his father doesn’t understand what he’s doing either.

Tony’s heard some of the phrases, some of the platitudes.  The ends can sometimes justify the means, but what’s the measure of it.  And Tony has heard more than once his father’s rant about the advancement of science and how sacrificed being made.  But he’s also heard the stories too.   How Captain America sacrificed himself to same thousands.  How he had stood his ground for the right thing, whether against bullies in Brooklyn when he was a skinny little kid or the Red Skull himself after Project Rebirth.  He can see where Howard has drawn his line, and where the Captain did. 

Tony read, not even pausing while he ate. He needed to know, he needed to understand. All he’s seeing here were emotions.  Happiness was first, with sprinkles on apprehension and hesitation when the project first came his way.  Later came the despair and the rage.  Finally the justifications splashed over the page.  Howard wasn’t talking science, wasn’t talking data he was involved and something that Tony couldn’t understand.  

And then there was nothing more.  The last of the text files was full of dates and names.  A litany where he knew some of the names, he’s seen them before in his history books, but it was history and he can’t quite remember why they were important. 

Tony is left with only Howard’s words ringing in his ears.

This man protected him when he didn’t have too.  Tony could do the same.  He knows the sequence and the codes.  It would be a simple thing to do and return the favor.

He’s tempted very tempted to turn it off, to open it and he’s already typing out the sequence. But he can’t.  This is a _secret project_ in a _secret room_.  If he did this Howard would know.  Where would he keep the man anyway?  Where would he go?  His floor is large, but not that large. Howard has no problem finding the comics, books or toys that Tony smuggled in. And really the blame might not land on Tony. Tony knew that Howard's first instinct wouldn't to blame a boy he'd called stupid and disappointing. No he'd blame Jarvis or Anna and never believe that Tony was capable of getting down here, that he was capable of understanding this.

Pulling his bear out of his pack he squeezed Bucky tightly to his chest and breathed in the soft scent.  Remembering empty look in gray eyes, Tony still couldn't name what that emotion is.  He can’t name it, but he thinks he’s beginning to understand it.  It’s the same one that is blooming in his chest and leaching into his heart. 

He knows what Captain American would do.  Tears slipped down his cheeks as he erases the code. More keys clatter as he backs out, instinctively moving to erase all evidence of his trespass.  Every piece in the room is check and moved back to where he found it.

He can’t.  He can’t rescue anyone. He's too much of a coward and can’t risk it.  Tony knows he’s not a hero and never will be one.

His face streaked with tears Tony tucked the bear back into the backpack and zips it shut.  No more games, no more fantasies.  Playing is for children.

 Stark men are made of Iron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't help myself.


	3. Age 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that comments I can't tell you how much that means to me. Hope you enjoy this next part.

# Age 14

 

Bag slung over his shoulder, Tony muscled in through the back door a smile fighting at his lips. His grin was wild and exalting.  He was FREE!  The bag had no weight not compare the energy that zipped through him.  It burned away the cold and dark.  It flared against the old memories, the ones that wanted him to kneel and bend.  He wouldn’t.  Here in these rooms, at this end of the giant monstrosity that wanted silence and subjection he was home.

Let Howard and his mother use the front door.  That wasn’t the way to home.  That was a house of rich man and his trophies.  That smelled of antiques and polish.  He could place where he was by the scent alone. Always the here he was safe and protection by a thousand memories, sight and smells that held up bright beacons.  Just remembering the smell of baking bread and fresh herbs calms him even on his bad days.  The soft chatter or Anna and Jarvis, the low tone of music was a peace that most only describe with the oldest of churches.  One step in and he’s surrounded by love and trust, a thousand hugs and cuddles that came from people that did not share his blood and loved him all the same.

No matter how long he was gone or where he’d been he surrounded by it all with that first step. 

 “Master Tony.” Low, slow, and Tony could hear the happiness.

The bag dropped unheeded unto to the floor and Tony just lets himself be wrapped up in thin arms.

He blinked.  Tony’s nose was tucked into the other man’s shoulder his head nestled under their chin.  But Tony hadn’t been picked up, and Jarvis isn’t kneeling.  Taking a step back Tony quickly noted the new lines in the man’s face, the spread of silver ghosting away from the butler’s temples.

 “Good to see you too Jarvis.” Tony couldn’t do it, couldn’t say all the words lined up like little soldiers.  He said the words that could be released and neither mentioned the little tremor in his voice.

“The rest of your suitcases were delivered this morning.”  Normal words and normal things but one hand squeezed his shoulder and stayed.  “I had them taken up to your room.”

“Thank you.”  Two words not enough to ever express just how much Jarvis had done for Tony, how much he meant to him.

The thin lips smiled just a little.  “We have cheeseburgers and French fries for dinner.”

And Tony can hear the return in those words.

“I appreciate that. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble having to cook a separate meal.”

He moved around to the table glad to be able to get off his feet.  Five hours of travel not counting all the prep and waiting and he’s done. 

“Your parents,” Jarvis said a frown pulling at his mouth, “are in Los Angeles for the next two weeks.”

It was Jarvis’s tone that had Tony’s head snapping up.  Despite a thousand attempts, some serious and some accidental the man had never spoken about Tony with such disappointment or disapproval. 

And Tony winced. He should have known. A careless slip of the tongue and now some of Jarvis’s happiness was gone.  Some that ice should have been directed his way.  A million broken promises, forgotten birthdays, and missed award’s presentations had made both boy and butler quite aware of the state or affairs.  Just days before when Jarvis had called to discuss logistics of getting his things back the older man had even offered to come, just in case.

“Don’t worry about it Jarvis.”  He tried to sooth.  “It was just boarding school.  You’ll be there for my college right?”

The other man nodded, “I hope to be.” No humor laced Jarvis’s tone just acceptance.  Neither mentioned the empty spaces that surround them where Ana should be.

They eat and trade stories filling the kitchen with laughter until Tony saw the slight tremor of exhaustion in the once steady hands. 

“Go to bed.” He laid his hand on the older man’s shoulder.  But Tony was very good at just letting certain things show on his face.   “I’ve got this.”

The look conveyed the appreciation, but the tone was desert dry.  “Do make sure you rinse them before you put them in the dishwater Tony.”

Another squeeze to his shoulder and the man slowly walked back to his rooms.

Tony felt the burn in his eyes and brushed the tears away with the back of his hand. Tony couldn’t stay in the kitchen any longer.  It was too warm, too welcoming.   He made himself leave the kitchen letting the door swing closed behind him.  He didn’t deserve it, the warmth the care.  Howard and Maria, they had it right.  There was no emotion in Maria’s careless handling.  And from Howard, who was to say that Tony didn’t deserve that anger? 

If Jarvis knew what Tony had done would he hate Tony too?

Memories lingered here too.  And he settled on the cold marble stairs.  Seven steps from the bottom, the precise place where the curve of the banister would hide a small figure. Here he could hear the sound of the house, the way it whispered, and the way it moved.

Tony deserved echoing emptiness, not love, not security.  He matched his breaths to the way the cold timbers shifted and his heart beat echo the ticks on the clock.

Being away, being out that had been a relief, a release.  He didn’t have to listen for his father’s footsteps.  He didn’t have to worry about someone going through his thing searching for forbidden toys or other contraband.  He didn’t have any toys, no books outside his textbooks, no games. 

His fingers flexed and he crossed them, tucking his fingers under his armpits. He didn’t want to think about the sad looking bear in the army jacket.  No longer did it go everywhere with him, it didn’t sit on his desk or his bed.  Throughout the last four years it had stayed safe and sound on a shelf.  Out of the sun and away from any dust or mold the bear had stared out into Tony’s room with those mismatched eyes.  Had anyone asked he would have said it was gift from one of his father’s war friends, a careful collector’s piece he had promised to take with him.  There had never been someone there to ask.

His thoughts drifted back to blue gray eyes and Tony tugged at his hair.  Cold stung through him, lancing and bitter.  It mixed with the pain of his scalp and he pulled hard enough for tears to fall.

Date, all those dates he couldn’t forget.  School, hours and hours of boredom and frustration, but he had learned.  He learned and learned until all the facts were seared into his brain.

And on his hands.

Assassinations, bullets and car accidents, politics, and revolution signed and sealed with the Stark name. Every letter, all the curves and lines dripped with blood.

And he had done NOTHING.

The low heavy tones of the clock stopped his thoughts and ended his grip.  Another minute, he could wait, but doesn’t.  Jarvis wouldn’t come looking for him.  There was no reason to and every reason for the man to wait for conversations in the morning.

One step and other, so much shorter than the last time he came this way. No, the house wasn’t changed; it never changed a constant reminder, a monument to reality.  Tony had grown.  Tony had changed, but not enough.  He would never be enough.  Not tall enough.  Not strong enough.  Not smart enough.

It made no sense to see the same control panel on the wall.  The same codes worked and even Tony’s little addition unnoticed and untouched after all these years. 

Once Tony had stood overwhelmed by the innovation and the energy he could see and touch.  Once he had marveled at his father’s ability to pull the ideas of the future and make them real. Now it was a mausoleum in dust and metal.  There is nothing else but the wreckage of in metal twisted by frustration and broken in annoyance.  Here were ideas stillborn before they could even work their way out of their creator’s hands.

Tony smiled at the remains of Howard’s engine.  The casing was cracked and the frame twisted where it was thrown against the wall.  Just a week after walking out the first time Tony had built _his_ engine.  He hadn’t just shown it to his father, waited until one of SI dinner parties.  The guests had been drawn away by the deep roar of the engine over the sound of soft music.  The old man was too slow to claim it when they could see Tony grease stained hands moving with assurance.  He couldn’t not when Tony knew more about how it worked and why.  A tame performing monkey happily showing off for adults as he rattled off the performance specs.

Howard couldn’t stop him.  Not for the engine, and certainly not for the circuit board.  Everyone knew how little regard Howard had for computers.  How many times had the man said that they were toys not tools? So when Tony had presented his modified board Howard could do nothing.  Seeing Howard’s name on a patent for something fundamental to computers there would be too many questions.

They had stood in front of the board, the press and all both with smiles on their faces. As Howard gushed about the new generation Tony could see the impotent rage behind the cracks.  In that moment Tony had discovered more intoxicating than alcohol and more additive that any drug.  Better that warmth that pooled in his chest and burned in his veins that the empty hollow ice. 

It wasn’t revenge.  He didn’t want Howard to do anything, be anything.  Tony didn’t wish him ill or dead what would be the point.  Alive Howard could only sit and watch his son be more than him, better than him.  Maybe it was, after all the best revenge after all would be to live well. 

He cast a disgusted eye around this room just to make sure, his lips twisting. There was nothing here.   Half thought concepts abandoned half scrawled on scraps of paper.  Nothing new and certainly nothing useful sat on these tables.  Concepts hashed and rehashed sat here.  Weapons too, Howard’s signature abandoned. 

In that maze Tony can see one of Howard’s secrets and his lies.  His fingers traced over a piece of paper full of color and dazzled with badly spelled words. There was emptiness in Howard where his innovation used to be.  A hole is all that was left of his creativity.  Nothing but ashes remain without even sufficient spark to use his son’s ideas. 

How that must burn.

Now he understood why the security had never been updated and changed.  Let anyone come down here there would be nothing.  Tony saw it differently.  He doesn’t see a place left for greener pastures. 

Tony sees the truth behind the lie.  He’s witness to a mausoleum, a memento mori, to a great mind.

His eyes drifted back to the section of wall, but there is no split or seam. Tony searched every nook and cranny and any conceivable place to hide the trigger.  Once upon a time Howard could be creative, and still was canny and cunning.

Irritation grew hot and sharp mixed with impotency.  Sliding down the wall Tony tried to think, tried to consider where the elder would have hidden it. Leaning back he thumped his head against it. He yelped when the wall slid back.  Jumping to his feet he spun and smirked.  Of course the old man would go for convenience not secrecy.  After all who would dare look? 

Tony barked a laugh at what waited behind the door. The evidence is crystal in just the section he can see with the light from the lab. Here lies the real Howard, the places his mind wondered and walked.  The catwalk gleams in the reflected light. The security console isn’t bright and shiny, no this was sleek and black hiding in the shadows for the unsuspecting. Maybe Howard wasn’t as done as Tony had thought.  Maybe his focus just shifted.

Tony won’t make the mistake of underestimating Howard not in here.  He won’t forget his father was one of the smartest men on his generation.  His hands moved with confidence and assurance.  It maybe slick and new but there was still no challenge to it.  Nimble fingers teased into the innards changing patterns and placements with confidence. 

The discordance tried to gripe him again down the stairs.  But Tony shook it away with a grin.  There are no twisting passages into the bowels of the earth, to flights of stairs.  No monsters lurk in the shadows here. 

Down here past that final door it was the true Howard, stripped of masks and ego and on display for all to see.   No more bare concrete and unfinished walls.  Gone where the harsh buzzing lights and tangles of wires. 

Clinical and flawless white title covered every inch of the floor and traveled halfway up the wall.  The sharp scent of disinfectant lingered in the air.  And the machines hadn’t been spared.  Gone were the giant terminals, the twists and tangles of wire.  Gone were the boxy compressors and the analog sensors.  Anything and everything that could be updated or replaced was.  Howard had seen some of those same fixes Tony had changing out the flow here and adding redundancies there.  Racks gleaming blade servers and narrow stations pulsed with lights in a fraction of the space.

His footsteps echoed in the room.  There was nothing to mask it and nothing to muffle it.  No machines whirled and hissed.  Welcome to the new age of silent damnation and unforgiving brightness. Oh there were places the light didn’t go, pools of shadows, but they were penned in, control and limited. Maybe they were spotlights highlighting Howard’s genius or his insanity.  Tony studied them all from the drafting tables to the monitors.

Here and there a bit of the old remained. The pieces that Howard hadn’t been able to overcome hadn’t been able to overwhelm into telling their secrets.  The chamber was no long in the center place of glory.  Tony smirked and wondered if it was a display of temper or defeat. 

The second was a mad mix of nightmares hidden outside the rings of light.  Draped in shadows it defied naming or purpose.  A flick of the controls and it was revealed in harsh details. Under the fluorescence it gleamed, showing off bends and angles that nothing modern would ever have.  Nothing mundane would have thick leather and chain straps either, and his skin prickled.  His mind worked on logic, following ideas from concept to inceptions.  What principles did those electrodes follow stationed at the head?  The positions suggested the stimulation.

The ground was hard under his knees.  His lungs ached and his hands scrabbled for fistfuls of hair to pull. 

He wanted …

He need…

Please let it all STOP!

“The asset needs repair.” The Russian echoed harshly, breaking the stillness and the silence.

Tony scrambled to his feet his hand scrapping on the floor.  Talking, someone was talking down here.  Heartbeats pounded in his ears; he whirled trying to find it. Not Howard he sobbed, not Howard.

And Tony stared.  Just like before and before.  The long, dark hair pulled back out of the way; his expression blank devoid of judgment or intent.  He found nothing, no clues or thoughts reflected back in those grey eyes. 

For all the evidence the man could have been a robot or automaton, but robots do not bleed.  The armor was torn and ripped.  Sections of the black fabric gleamed.  Water wouldn’t shine like that. 

Tony hadn’t had much of a chance to look around, hadn’t been able to find another way in or out and over sight.  And it might just kill him. Boarding school taught him many things.  It taught more than books, it taught him about people how to tell the ones that pushed and shoved and the ones that would strike.   He tried a step to the left, not towards the bench where he suspects the tool were kept but the door. 

If he could get a head start, if he could get to the door. IF, IF, IF.

The man never moved but his eyes did the first signs of life the man had shown. 

Tony couldn’t help but follow the line of blood.  He watched it collect growing fatter the longer he did nothing. Dropped down to the tile.

 What was the point of fighting anyway? Tony owed the man this.  Once for shielding a small child hidden in a closet and owed for being left frozen and alone.

 “Sit down. We can play doctor.”  The snark helped.  It gave him some sort of balance, control even.  Granted it was also the thing that usually got him _into_ the trouble to begin with.

There was nothing, no smile, not a frown or a question.  Tony let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding when no fist came his way and no slap stung his cheek.

There is just the unmoving gaze of the man as he stripped off the vest armor.  Tony had to bite the side of his cheek to stop the wince and the gasp at the way the fabric had stuck to the wounds and how the motion ripped at the scabs. 

 His eyes tracked the riot of drying blood and bruises.  He catalogued three bullet holes, two knife wounds and some many scrapes and bruises.  Tony has had his share of wounds, accidental or not.  You couldn’t ask for help.  Those came with questions that no one would answer and often enough more of the same.  Trial and error, books and articles those were his teachers.

He could spot the cuts you have to sew up versus the ones that just needed to be cleaned.  The learning curve was mapped on Tony’s on skin the scars growing smaller and finer as he learned to weld needle and thread.  Bruises are the easiest to treat and Tony had memorized the levels, the soft tissues to the deep bone.  He had methods for all that kept your movements natural and loose.  He was a scientist so he knew how to treat and clean open gashes to keep the infections away. 

He was just praying that Howard had what Tony needed.

He didn’t hesitate; he’d seen that section with the tray table and all the things that fit more in a doctor’s office.  It had seemed a little curious that Howard would have it.  Tony rifled through it all.  Most of it was there.  Distilled water in sealed bottles, sterilized kits, forceps and scalpels; everything and anything to close wounds and remove bullets except for one thing.  There was nothing to treat the pain. 

Every fucking thing to keep the machine moving and running but anesthetics; not a drop of morphine, no sedatives of any kind to be found on the table, nor where they in the cabinets or in the freezer. 

Rage, it whispered and crooned.  The sweet burn of cold steadied his hands and his stomach.

“I’m sorry.” Tony said slipping on the gloves.  The Russian slipped off his tongue laced with all the things he couldn’t say. 

Of all things, that got a reaction, a wrinkled brow and the narrow stare that Tony couldn’t interpret.  Then he does and the bile twisted in his stomach. That wasn’t because of what Tony _said,_ but why he was saying it at all.

“Body first, then the arm.” Tony said keeping his tone calm and soothing.

The whole process was nerve racking in ways that Tony had no experience with. No words, no groans, nothing passed the man lips no matter what Tony did.  It was horrifying to follow the thought to the logical conclusion that no matter what the genius did the man _would not_ speak. 

There are no overt signs.  Tony had search and hope for the barest of twitches and the most minuet of flinches all the while attuned to what his hands needed to be doing.  Good thing he'd perfected multitasking at an early age, but never in circumstances such as these.

There was one miracle in the whole ghastly ordeal, small as it was. Every single bullet wound had both entrance and exit wounds.  Tony’s meager skills covered stitching and cleaning, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to remove a bullet. To test the theory of it on patient without anything to deaden the pain, not something Tony had been looking forward to doing.   But he checked each wound just to be sure, sensitive fingers and light pressure feeling for the telltale signs. 

It was because he was paying so close attention that Tony noticed the signs, his brain logging the evidence before his consciousness understood it.  First, raw seeping wounds forced back open so Tony can straighten the edges and minimize the scars.  Second, the black and purple faded before his eyes to green and yellow.  The coup de grâce was when the smallest of the cuts sealed before he could even clean it. Tony forced his hands steady on the scalpel slice down to remove the bits of dirt and rock. 

The litany of damage Tony recorded could have easily killed.  At the least he should be unconscious not seated spine straight and those grey eyes staring off at something out of Tony’s sight with only the blinking or breathing indicating he was real.   

Rare were the times that Howard wanted anything to do with his son.  But sometimes and on certain days the whiskey or scotch made the older man melancholy.  Only then would Howard talk to Tony instead of at him.  Each and every time the stories were all the same, Project Rebirth. How he and Erskine took a frail sick boy and turned him into the greatest of soldiers.  And when Tony had grown too old for Howard to even want that Tony had already master the tricks of the lock.  There was no drawer or box safe from Tony’s burning need to know.  Coupled with any book or article from libraries and stories Tony had inadvertently become more of an expert on Captain America and the principals behind it than Howard himself. 

So he knew quite well what he was looking at. 

For sure this man wasn’t built like the Captain.  This man was lean corded muscle not Roger’s powerhouse built.  This was speed and agility first, not the pure strength.  But there is no refuting it.  Under his hands was another super soldier.

In all Howard’s notes, all the drunken ramblings and cryptic laments never was a name mentioned.  Not a hint of identity of man encased in ice.  No spark of history or origin where Tony could find.  The only clue he’s managed to uncover in those brief visit’s home had been a charred scrap of paper.  A tiny fragment of something large, orders or reports he managed to save listing the Russian words Зимний Солдат, the Winter Soldier.

Now Tony knew SHIELD had a thin sparse file on the Winter Soldier, he’d seen the copy among Howard’s things; no real name and no origin, nothing but an anemic list of names and dates. Howard had made sure that SHIELD had nothing.  

Now here was Tony his hands covered in another man’s blood.  Tony wasn’t Howard. He didn’t want to think of a weapon before a man.  He didn’t want to think that pain was unimportant. 

Soon Tony’s babble started something to push away the horrors in the room than because he thinks the Soldier might care or process what is being said.  It’s the genius that needs the reassurance that some humanity still remained.

Because he can multitask and because his eyes flick up from his work in that routine search Tony saw it.  He watched the glazed eyes slide back into focus and fix themselves onto Tony.  The genius felt the intensity of the stare, and it was only fare to let the man study him for all that Tony had done.  Tony didn’t stop, didn’t stare back just continued his work.  Out of the corner of his eye watched the way the super soldier frowned slightly at the sight of wild brown curls and unlined skin.

 “Not инженер.”  

 “No I’m not the Engineer.”  He doesn’t pause tying off the last knot and continuing to work.  The gallon of water was warm to the touch, but a quick sniff told Tony it was still potable at least and shouldn’t cause any sort of infection.  No way was Tony’s going to risk those wound in a shower so a sponge bath with warm water and a clean cloth wiped away the last of the blood and grime.

Only once every last cut was cleaned and bandaged did Tony glance at the mechanical arm.  Sneaking another glance Tony could see that this too confused the man deeply. Tony gritted his teeth hard.  Howard would have ignored the man for the machine.  To be honest Tony would have too, but for little things like blood and bullet holes. 

Washing his own hands Tony looked back over his work. Theoretically the serum should overcome and heal any infection from missed debris or worse lodged in those wounds. But Tony hates the idea of theory when applied to a living thing.   

It wasn’t completely unnerving to be stared at like that.  Tony didn’t recoil, didn’t step away just moved through some range of motion tests.  He didn’t bother looking at the surface stuff, the dents, and the scrapes.  Those were obvious answers.  It was the little bits and pieces that made the genius think of internal damage.   The way the shoulder hitched just a little in the forward swing and the way the fingers won’t quite close all the way.   He caught the little ticks and hesitations, but didn’t frown.  The man was too observant of his facial expressions.  It was entirely possible that a frown would be misconstrued.  So he settled for biting his lip during the strength and rotations parts.  There, his eyes snapped to the soldier’s face, that little twitch of skin, just a simple lift caused pain. 

Lacking a better way to control his expression Tony chewed on a pencil.  Accessing the computer he pulled up Howard’s notes. Now the man was being useful.  Every iteration, every upgrade was listed in graphic detail. The dates themselves punch him in the gut, the detail twisted the knife.  The very first date is August 28, 1953. There were no diagrams, no drawings and not even a picture just a rambling dissertation of the condition this man was in when Howard had “received” him. 

Tony didn’t think about the bile burning his throat, just swallowed it down and buried himself in the wires and the mechanics of this.  He doesn’t want to think tangential thoughts of morality and sides.  He would rather snarl about the rat’s nest of a mockery of electronics inside the arm and bitch about how some wires crisscross and others led nowhere. 

And it was a horror show.  Tony isn’t good with people, never had been and probably won’t be.  But he can feel machines; can get a sense of the person that created them, built them.  Howard, he’s the one that did all the repairs; he’s responsible for this nightmare. 

How much could he do really?  How far is the line between what Howard would notice and what he wouldn’t? 

Tapping his teeth Tony thought it through.  Wires and gears, those he could play with.  A few alterations to Howard’s notes, no problem, but that was just a stop gap, not a fix. How he wanted to start from scratch.  Toss this nightmare of circuits into the incinerator and build it better, lighter. The weight distribution was pathetic all that metal pulling against the skeleton.  The man wasn’t made out of adamantium.  He did that and Howard would definitely notice and Tony didn’t have youth to hide behind.

 “One day.” Tony promises.  “One day I’ll build you a new one.”

Those eyes flicker again and the Soldier gives him a nod.  “механик.”

Mechanic, Tony translated and grinned. With the name ringing in his mind he turned to his work curled over the arm with a proprietary protectiveness.  But he still looked, still checked for any sign of pain.  Nothing, there was not a sign of it when he modified the wiring harness and cleaned the contacts.  No flinching or twitches when he rearranged the connections.  Nothing showed but the faintest curl, the slightest raise to the edge of lips no longer pressed tight.

“Thank you.” The man said when Tony finally finished.  The genius did freeze when the metal hand reached towards his face.  The thumb swiped against his cheek with surprising gentleness. And the soldier was gone lost into the shadowed while Tony tried to gather his wits. 

He debated it again and again.  But in the end he cleaned and cleaned until nothing remained to betray either of them.

The apple never fell far from the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how you think, it just needs to be cleaned up no problem. Yeah....about that. Looks like maybe a week between chapter to deal with the detour to Albuquerque.
> 
> Also I'm a bad person and use a Russian dictionary, so if you see any errors please let me know. Also still trying to get it beta read.


	4. Age 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heat melts, but cold shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying different approach here and a slightly different technique. The normal text is what is happening in the now, the bold and italics are the memories. A lot of things going on and it looked like a fun technique to try out when you don’t want to have a sixty page chapter. 
> 
> Let me know if there are any egregious mistakes. 
> 
> Механик – Mechanic  
> Инженер – Engineer  
> [spoken Russian]  
> Italics – memories

Tony raised his glass and saluted the emptiness all around him.  He drank deeply loving the burn, the feel of the scotch sliding down his throat.  He needed it, needed to feel it, to know that he was still capable of feeling something, anything at all.  Let it be the slow sweet warmth of alcohol, the slick glide of sex or a blissful high.  Just something to help remind him he was human.

Because he wasn’t humane

**_He slipped into the building with ease.  No one caught sight of him as he crept by open doors.  He dared a look.  The guards were huddled around the tv while some sports game played.  His door was further down, windowless and normally locked._ **

The media loved it.  Gossip rags were devoted to his exploits.  The society pages wet themselves even time he stepped out of their line.  Nothing raised sales more than Tony Stark on a bender.  Some were in for the shock value; other decried him as the epitome of all that was wrong with today’s youth. 

But they all speculated as to why?

**_He set to work quickly.  The door closed and the air conditioning ran so who would hear the clatter of keys muffled by the fabric of his gloves._ **

 Taking another drink he laughed bitterly.  It must be the pressure.  What had his parents been thinking letting him enroll at MIT at 14?  How could they let him out of their control so young? He was too young to have so much expected of him.  They said it at fourteen, and revamped it at fifteen.  Now at sixteen they just railed that someone should control him, rein him in.  Howard should exercise more control and take his rebellious son to task.

**_Numbers danced before his eyes, forty percent…forty one…forty two.  Other screens popped up and he scans the readouts the slick breathable fabric around his mouth sliding against his smile. He kept one eye on the screen and one ear focused for the sounds outside the room, waiting and listening for any change in the roar of the sports game or the scrap of shoes coming up the hall._ **

Tony had carefully cut that article out and framed.  It hung in a place of honor with all his awards and memorabilia. He won’t turn and he won’t look.  How Rhodey had pouted the first time he’d seen what Tony had done to his old room.  Not like the man really cared that it now housed a second workshop.  But the pout and sighs were more of ‘It’s okay’ and ‘We’re alright’.  Tony hadn’t wanted the other man to move out.  But Rhodey had plans and dreams.  Tony used to know about those. 

**_The files kept scrolling and he grinned with pride at the sweet little gadget.  A few minor bugs, but better than anything in existence, naturally. Keeping watch over the blur of green text was one way to pass the time.  But then one didn’t vanish, it wasn’t there and gone again.  Whatever it was, was huge._ **

He could name off all the items on those shelves, Tony Stark’s little museum of horror, or honors. The ice in his glass tinkled as he poured more alcohol in his glass.  All the awards, all the trophies, the magazine covers, and the ribbon, all reminders of who he is supposed to be.

Nestled high up on the shelves, hidden to the casual observes is a sealed collectors box.  Most don’t see it, but it was always the first thing his eyes zero in on.  He won’t study it, wouldn’t look at it too hard.  Just needs to be sure that it was still there, no dust or mold and most of all hadn’t disappeared on him. 

**_The name registered and his feet hit the floor, Mnemosyne.  His breath hitched in his chest and the room grew too warm and too stifled. Mnemosyne, Memory._ **

Tony slugged back the rest of the glass.  It was fake fur and glass eyes, full of stuffing not an oracle and certainly not a conscious.  Tony had lost his.  Was it two years ago when he’d started this, when he had taken that first step?  Or had it been early when Tony had wadded into the cesspool eye wide open. 

**_He typed out a few commands, nothing that would interfere with his toys.  A few more and the entire thing was displayed before him._ **

The glass shattered against the wall.  His chest heaved as he stared at the shards. Howard, the man was the root and the seed, the blight and the rot.  And Tony was nothing more than the fruit of that poisonous tree. 

Who would he have talked to anyway?  Who would have believed him then?  A kid pointing at shadows versus the great and powerful wizard of the modern age?

**_The first of the files opened.  A terrible frost, a bitter cold bloomed in his chest and twisted into his veins._ **

Peggy, Aunt Peggy would have at least listened.  She would have listened to ever damning word, taken every piece of evidence that Tony had.  But would she have done anything?  Would she have seen how the man that had helped to found SHIELD was now actively betraying it?

Tony grabbed the bottle and focused back on the bank of monitors as they processed last night find.  The viruses had been dealt with and the encryptions broken. 

He never bothered with Howard’s workshops; those barren places where inventor Howard Stark still tried and still pretended.  What would be the point? No Howard was useless now in the light, his best creations, his only creations birthed in the dark and the rot far away from the Stark name.

**_He ripped the mask from his face.  He had to control his breathing, had to stop the panting.  In and out he could do that. His stomach rolled.    All of Howard’s hints, all of his little clues.  Here was why the man never talked about who the Soldier had been.  It’s brilliant in the simplicity, out of sight, out of mind._ **

Tony didn’t need to hack SI either. Dear Uncle Obie made sure of that. Whatever Tony needed, however the man could help as long as Tony funneled his ideas their way.  Tony was quite aware how many of his “projects” had Howard’s name on the patent.  Tony didn’t care.

For those sections that Howard was intent on keeping anyone for getting into, anyone seeing.  Those he used the best protections and the most advanced firewalls.  The old man might as well hang a sign that said ‘Look Here!’.  And the really sad thing was that it was never a feint or a trap. 

Poor bastard still hadn’t learned that when Tony wanted into a computer there was no stopping him.

**_Every detail and every step as they stripped away humanity and personality until there was nothing remaining but loyalty and purpose._ **

He’d infiltrated Howard’s “lairs” long again, the Mansion and the one thought to be totally hidden in Los Angeles.  Tony hadn’t bothered with cameras or audio.  He really didn’t need to hear Howard’s ranting.  Let the man think he was alone; let him think he was the king of his castle.  Tony knew better. 

And it had been so simple too. Just a little chip, a change of connections and Tony was always there.  Anything Howard thought to add or input Tony would know it instantly.

All of Howard’s dirty little secrets laid bare for Tony to see. Weeks of work to get to everything, setting up the perfect timing; distracting the paparazzi, making sure that Howard wasn’t at the location in question.  All the pieces just so, but he’d done it.  Any computer Howard used for his super-secret projects Tony found. 

**_The file ended and Tony frowned.  It didn’t make sense.  The size that his program was reading versus what he could see, they didn’t match.  Taking up the keyboard again his starts with his bag of tricks determined to find out why._ **

He didn’t think about it, just poured another glass and drained down.  He’d been damn naïve at 14.  How much time had he wasted trying to make sense of it all, and get the pieces to fit together just right.  Tony had tried and tried to find a way that allowed him to understand just what Howard was doing.

And at the end of the summer when Tony had understood that the pieces were never going to come together?  Coming to grips with that had taken another six months. 

The truth was that there was no justification and no reason.  Maybe once, in the beginning there had been some altruistic meaning.  Had Howard conceived a way to clear the rot he found in SHIELD?  Pages and pages spouted and sputter about Operation Paperclip and the infection arising out it. But when the old man turned a blind eye to it, to what Zola was up to?  Those rants were just as long but now Howard sang a different tune.  Now the ends would justify the means and everything was okay.

**_Ten minutes ticked by before he finds them.  Another went as he teased them out into the light.  Hidden files, on a hidden computer, in a hidden location something more than the usual and something Howard very much cannot let come to light._ **

In the end there was one conclusion that Tony cam to in regard to his father.  Howard wasn’t sane, not anymore.  He wasn’t close to it, not with what he’d done, how he had gone from justification to acceptance.  The older man wasn’t rational.  All the things he’d done to the Soldier, to Tony.  

Tony was firmly convinced that Howard still knew right from wrong.  He just didn’t care anymore.

Tony took another long pull of the bottle.  Not that he was much better, with his list of sins so fitting for the Stark name: denial, avoidance, and submission, all the things that he’d done when he should have known better.

**_Medical reports, the meticulous records of pain tolerances and drug reactions, each and every detail linking back to things only someone participating in Project Rebirth could have known._ **

A hero would have rescued the Soldier and be damned.  A decent person would have pulled those files and presented the evidence to agencies that might be willing to have the mark of taking down the Starks.  The minute Tony had learned just who sandbox Howard was playing in he should have.

But Tony wasn’t Captain America.  His bitter laugh echoed again.  Howard had said so and once again the bastard was right.

Tony hadn’t and he would never do it.  It wasn’t about belief, it wasn’t about fear.  No stupid, arrogant fifteen year old Tony Stark had had a brilliant idea. 

The thought of making Howard’s destruction impersonal and one removed soured his stomach.  Tony didn’t want to turn it over; he didn’t want the authorities to be the ones to have all the evidence.  They could be just as dirty as Howard.

**_Another is the skills assessment.  One talked about the man’s skills as a soldier and a sniper.  It logged the changes to the hand to hand combat and the assets proficiency with weapons.  There are complaints about secrecy._ **

It was a need that defined him.  Tony needed to be the one to do it.  To get his hands on all the Howard built in the light and the dark, to tear it all down.  And when it was done?  He wanted to be the one to shove the ashes and the ruins in the old man’s face.

And so he started, leaping from bits and pieces of data scrounged from Howard’s files, his moments, and even his phone calls. Tony found the edges of the shapes and filled in them in with a ruthless intensity so at odds with his age.

**_There are rants on how the data is skewed because no one knew, no one was told what had happened when the asset was a prisoner._ **

And what he found Tony wasn’t sure if it was more astonishing or disappointing.  All of Peggy’s stories and all of Howard’s notes, they painted Hydra as a monolith, this world spanning conspiracy with armies.

He had found the mouse, not a dragon. Fifty years since the end of the war.  Fifty years for momentum to build and pieces to be moved.  He’d tracked small penetrations, little incursions.  SHIELD wasn’t a surprise at all, but there should have been more than the sprinkling in agents elsewhere. Hydra only had five in the Federal government, six in various State governments and only a bare handful in the military.  He had to be missing things, because they have nothing in the schools, no colleges and certainly nothing in some of the most cutting edge research centers.

_‘ **They found him in the crevasse.  They thought they were bringing back a body. Zola had his fun, his tests and experiments.  It is my turn now. We don’t have the Captain but Barnes will suffice for our needs. ’**_

Another pull and Tony was surprised at how light the bottle was now.  Howard again, SI and Howard the king and kingdom of science and weapons, and Tony can see it.  Can see how Howard can sell the fraud when the older man believed it himself.

And their secrets, Tony had the edges of those too. He already knows about the human experimentation, the plans to push the serum question, and even the ideas of enhancements.

Tears streaked down his face and Tony didn’t care.  He couldn’t say, couldn’t force his lips to move and the air to move past his vocal chords.  Thinking it made his stomach roll and churn. Every piece that Howard bragged about, every little sick thing that was done the man had recorded. Knowing what had been done to the soldier, seeing the data entered like he was just another science experiment, just a weapon to be tested had driven home what Howard had become.  

**_Barnes, James Buchanan._ **

Tony barely made it to the bathroom before he was throwing up.  He heaved until there was nothing left but bile and acid.

His head rested on the cold tile.  The chill was comfort and consolation.  It was what he needed and what he deserved. He felt the vibrations of whisper soft treads and heard the tap turning on.  He didn’t flinch when a cool rag was draped over his neck, nor when an even colder hand began to rub at his back.

[“My arm needs repair.” ]

Tony went boneless when the words tickled the back of his neck.  ‘My arm’, self-awareness, an unalienable right that should never been forgotten.  Tony staggered to his feet only to be caught and steadied by a metal arm. 

**_There was more, much more.  Plans and blueprints sit side by side with test results._ **

[“You drink too much.” ]

The genius let out an exaggerated sigh. 

[“Really, you too?”]  He snapped but leaned further against the solid frame.  Jarvis said it.  Rhodey said it.  Hell all newspapers said it; he didn’t need to hear it from a cybernetic amnesiac assassin who spent most of his time as a Popsicle. 

[“I should have never fixed that damn chair.”] He groused letting the other man steer him to his workroom.

But Tony couldn’t help the burble of laughter as he was dragged along.  But it was funny.  The mysterious, murderous assassin was pulling him along like a recalcitrant child. Those grey eyes tried to glare at him when the first snicker escaped Tony’s clenched teeth.  But there was too much amusement, too much annoyance, too much life in those eyes to make him stop. 

**_He built it in his mind, traced the plans and concepts.  Dark ideas, things better left unborn, should have never been conceived or placed on paper.  He tried to find the flaws; searched for the fatal errors, tiny machines smaller than the point of a pin.  But he can’t.  Nothing but will and materials to keep the machines unmade._ **

When those arms let go all Tony could do was curl up in the chair laughing and sputtering until the tears ran down his face. The crossed arms didn’t help either after two years he'd built up a resistance to that glare.  

[“Are you done?” ]

The question had Tony sucking in heaving lungful of air.  He tried to explain, to get past the lack of air.  It wasn't humor, or not all of it.  It was a mass and mix of emotions that Tony couldn't explain.  

But he just nodded and worked to get himself back under control.  Not for anything would Tony mar that personality emerging from the Winter Soldier shell.  

**_Another part is the programing.  Here is where the problems lie.   Too tiny to  hold something known, something conventional.   He nods in agreement with the margin notes and revision specs.  Hive minds, social groups, spread it out among hundreds and it could work.  A theory and plans for things better left in the plot of novel; a nanite swarm._ **

Tony wiped the tears from his eyes and pulled out the special toolbox just for these repairs. There was a set pattern for this.  

Time and time again the Soldier would appear days after another notion appeared in Howard's system, another remark that the chair had been used. 

It taught Tony patience.   Again and again Tony had to explain the emerging memories,  a tiny child with a mop of brown hair, the promise of a lanky child to fix the chair. 

He never showed how much it hurt.

It was routine, but never rote how Tony would have to talk the Soldier down.  Tell him that yes the chair still worked, that it had too.  They had no power; they had no place to go.  It had broken something inside Tony every time he had to explain that it hadn’t been Tony’s choice. 

Sometimes the Soldier left, once he had pulled a gun, only to drop it at Tony's unwavering gaze.  Those times were rarer now.  Now the man would sit his vague stare drifting off into other memories while Tony fixed his arm, or sewed his wounds.

It had taken months for Tony to be able to admit it.  That he hadn’t been sure his “fixes” would work. The theory of the chair was and Orwellian nightmare wrapped up in Bradbury fantasy.  There were no notes, no history.  Most of the damn time had been spent wrapping his head around the fact that it actually worked, on Super Soldiers. Once he had been confidence he’d understood the theory, the actual changes had been easy, that didn’t mean it would do what Tony wanted it to. 

**_The screen flashed pulling him up and out. TRANSFER COMPLETE. He shuts it all down, all the computers, all the monitors._ **

But tonight neither spoke at first.  The only sounds in the room the low grumble from Tony as he wound his way through the rat’s nest of an arm.  Neither shifted or twitched, their breathing matched in the same steady and silent cadence.

“What did you find?” the older man asked, English now.

“Hmm?” Tony blinked up from the wire and gears.

“At the Station last night, what was it?”

**_His belt has all he needed to strip down the computers, to pull all the drives.  He cannibalized them pulling the wires, the chips, everything he’d need._ **

Things ended, it was fundamental principle in Tony’s life since before he could remember.  His cruise of the dark web was no different.  When he ran into the same data for the third time Tony knew he couldn’t ignore that fact.  There was no doubt there was more out there.  All of what he’d found suggested it, and hinted at things he needed to know.

But there were no wires, no connections for Механик to follow.

No one could see him.  Sixteen and skinny?  He was more likely to be laughed and killed. Let anyone catch a glimpse of “Tony Stark” raiding “military” compounds and research labs, well the authorities would be the least of his worries.  

The Soldier had started training Tony once the man understood what he was doing.  A routine so ingrained it was surviving the wipes.  Had the older man known it would happen even when Tony refused to believe it?

Those sessions had been brutal and rough, hand to hand, evasion, infiltration, and escape. The intensity and repetition counterbalanced against Tony starting so late.   Just another way he missed his old roommate, but was glad to live alone now.  Tony didn’t have to justify working out; he didn’t have to justify his disappearance.  And he sure as hell didn’t have to explain away his injuries.

So Механик stepped out into flesh and blood.  A formless and more importantly, faceless shadow and five times he had done it, broke in, downloaded data, and gotten out with no one the wiser. 

**_He had to take his gloves off to strip the wires, to put it all together with nothing more than a mini soldering gun and the scrapped off pieces of weld._ **

The smell crept into his nose, the heat flashing against his skin.  The screwdriver in his hand slipped and touched a contact point.  The jolt of electricity arced up into his hand.

 “Fuck.” He swore jumping out of his seat and shoving the burnt fingers into his mouth. Turning around his hid the offending hand under his armpit and waited for the pain to subside.

Behind him he heard the metal plates closing, the shift of the chair.  When a warm hand touched his shoulder his thought was to shrug it off, to move away.  But he wanted.  He needed someone to understand, to tell him it was okay. He wanted the comfort of a lie he could believe in.

Tony just couldn’t stop his brain.

**_His watch he used for the timer._ **

The grey stone building wasn’t military or research. This was one of Howard’s collection points, his backups for the data he couldn’t risk anyone seeing.  Once upon a time Tony would have laughed at the paranoia.  But it wasn’t paranoia when people really were out to get you was it?

The clues had been easy to follow; the trace he kept on the Soldier cinched it.  Once a month a courier and his escort would arrive with a new batch of data.  The guards were at full paranoia. Some of it was for watching the courier load it in.  But their real focus one on the escort, a dark haired man with hard cold eyes, who always wore long sleeves and driving gloves, even in the summer.

“Howard has been working on a new project.”  The arm was pretty much slag.  All the wires and gears that Tony had once replaced weren’t the problem.  It was the joints and the attachments.  No one could go over forty years without a full replacement.

“Shit.” he snapped throwing down the screwdriver. 

**_It wasn’t hard to shape the wires or form them on the pipes.  In his head he listed the things he needed to make sure he always carried._ **

 “Can you fix it?”

Tony blinked looking back at James trying to parse the words.  Russian was easier, it was separate and different, a safety net.

“I can, I should, but…”

“Howard.” The Soldier said. It was a common barrier whenever they planned.  

 “Yes, Howard.”

“The инженер no longer does maintenance on the Asset’s arm.”   

Tony’s jerked up at the phrasing and saw the slight twist of lips that might, just might be a smile on the Soldier’s face.

“You’re sure?” Two day, it always too two days for the Soldier’s healing to overcome the burn of the changed machine.

“Check, but I am sure.”  The English had an accent now, New York maybe but there is not enough of it to say. They need the MRIs of the Soldier’s brain.  They need a baseline of just how bad the damage was, how extensive.  Memories were coming back, but nothing old, nothing from before. 

**_He flipped the timer with a smile and tucked away all his tools and ripped the value off the pipe._ **

Tony had imposed his own kind of order on the pilfered data.  Frowning he flipped through the files and saw that James was right.  Howard hadn’t done anything but the most necessary repairs in the last two years. 

He tapped his teeth with a nail and considered.  Howard wasn’t stupid.  Tony would never make that mistake no matter how much he hated what Howard had become.  He was a crafty, clever man who had survived swimming in the nastiest, deadliest sewer for forty years. 

“The Engineer is an issue is he not?” The words were a croon.

Tony had no illusions about what the other man was asking and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise.

**_His steps were soft in the hall and he can hear the laughter coming from some of the rooms._ **

 “He is.” Tony said flatly feeling that ice again and the cool, crisp clarity. 

“What did you find on the computer?” The question wasn’t soft, wasn’t coaxing. 

 “Howard latest work.”  He snapped.  “He’s managed to convince Hydra to pull in new researchers.  He’s gotten them on a new idea should the chair ever fail.”

 “Can you beat it?”

**_The door opens in front of his path and behind the mask Tony smiles cold and empty._ **

“Maybe.” He couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t the spent and mad Howard.  There were fresh minds behind these ideas.  Tony saw the flaws and the ways to exploit it.  Howard was a multi-millionaire with the tools and the connections. Tony wasn’t.

But he had his brain. They could figure out the rest.  The design is almost complete it was just the programing that was flawed.  But he can’t make the call; not alone.  They have to plan and they have to consider every step. 

He pulled down a laptop and stuck in the drive.  “The idea is called nanorobotics….”

**_The explosion roars and the fire balls painted the sky.  He felt the heat on his face  through the mask.  He felt the stiffness of  his shirt and ran a hand over the stains with the ghost of a smile._ **


	5. Chapter 5: Age 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All actions have consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry. 
> 
> To answer a question. These are snapshots they do not include all the things happening to Tony in his life. I am trying to avoid ruining the plot for later stories. 
> 
> Russian Terms of Endearment: Zvyozdochka – little star. Медвежонок- Teddy Bear.  
> [ ] - speaking in Russian,

# Chapter 5 – Age  17

 

He hated this place with the halls that echoed.  He hated every stifling room.  The décor pulled too many memories of raised voices and sudden silences.  The echo of his own voice was the only thing that responded to his rants. His screams went unanswered.  Every muttered curse was only heard by the brick and mortar. 

Dear old Obie, Tony ground his teeth together and shoved back the rising frustration and anger.   The man had arrived minutes after Tony had gotten THE CALL.  And there he had planted by Tony’s side through the official identification, the lawyers, and the funerals.  He had been the epitome of the caring family friend and mentor, when others were around.   He played the honorary uncle to the hilt staying by Tony and deflecting the curious and the scavenging. So very willing to help in anyway Tony might need. It was the proper thing to do after all Stane was Tony’s guardian until Tony reached eighteen. But more news worthy Stane would be in control of Stark Industries until Tony’s twenty first birthday.

His head pounded with the strain and his knuckles ached from being clenched to long and too hard.  Tony had already started a book in his head about how much fun the gauntlet to his one and twenty would be and just how hard Stane would be willing to go. 

A mound of papers covered the coffee table and he tried to rub some warmth back into his arms.

The media had been kept away from the funeral.  SI securities and even the police had made sure that not a single reporter had made it to the funerals. They had tried to restrict them at the cemetery too, but the somehow the fucking vulture had still managed to get their stories.

It was fine, Tony reassured himself, it would be okay.  All the papers walked the party line, the stories were ones that Stark Industries wanted and the ones that Stane wanted.  Howard Stark’s untimely death was front page new where ever Tony turned.  The man’s picture stared out of thousands of papers in various languages.  Old, young, the war, and the bomb all with that sly smile grinned at Tony on every media site.  They all hailed the fallen hero.  Every single one talked about his legacy and his accomplishments.  With such a common thread and polished tone it was obvious that there had been one hand behind them all.  But that hand wasn’t Tony Stark’s. 

It was okay, everything was fine now.  Now the man was gone.  Almost a month of constant supervision, annoyance, and the _nagging_ but Stane was finally gone, away from Tony, across the country and not coming back not for a while.  Tony raked his fingers through his hair feeling the slide and pull from the knots breaking.  Those little sparks of pain like little lamp posts in the descending swirl of his thoughts gave him shelter, an anchor. 

Thirty days of being with Stane, hours upon hours of being alone with the man and only left alone when business or other matter couldn’t be deflected or postponed.  Tony nerves jangled and ached.  Every waking minute Tony had been on edge, his mind screaming probabilities and variation, his instincts warning him of the dangers.  And below all that the burning cold waiting and wanting that perfect opportunity.

Tony couldn’t escape, he couldn’t leave.  He had to stay right where he was in this hated house.  For the first time he had welcomed the press of people around him.  He welcomed it because it was a distraction, avoidance, and just another buffer.   Alone gave Stane opportunity and time.  Without a distraction gave the man the room to push.  Without those warm bodies, Tony had nothing but his plans and his contingencies between him and what Obie wanted.  And every day, every attempt made the whispers from that fathomless cold sound sweeter and sweeter.

But those contingencies, those plans had given Tony room to breathe and given him space for when Obie tried. At first the older man was subtle in his pressuring.  He tried the manipulation the businessman was so famous for.  He used all the little tricks that should have worked on a socially awkward and friendless teen into trusting the care and guidance of someone who _knew_ and who _understood_.  So charming and so willing to listen. 

When the other man had realized that Tony wouldn’t be solely dependent on the older man’s whim and word, the tone and tactics had changed.  Gone was the compassion and consideration, now there was blackmail and intimidation. Out had come the rants about Tony’s drug and alcohol use, and the ravings about his sex life.  The pressure was sharp and direct.  The Board wasn’t happy with an addict playboy positioned to be the next CEO.  How the investors worried about the path the company was going on.  But Obie, he could make it all better.  He could fix Tony’s image and settle it all down.  If Tony listened, If Tony did want he wanted.

Through it all Tony had listened with an impassive face.  It had been hard, damn hard to maintain it.  Tony had never been and would never be bothered by it.  It was another mask, another layer, a way to get people to underestimate him, to brush him off.  So he had listened, ignored the yells and the threats.  Granted Tony’s own desire to do something, anything to pull back from the ice might not have been the best idea, but Tony was always full of those.  That final night when Stane had cornered him yet again, Tony couldn’t resist.  He couldn’t stop himself from sitting there not impassive, not remote.  No, this time Tony had smiled that smirk and sipped at his glass of whiskey.  Well he had until Stane had snarled in a fit of rage and slapped it from his hand.  They both had looked at the shattered crystal and Tony had laughed and applauded. 

The other man had thought he was drunk or stoned or maybe even both.  But he had left Tony alone.  Let him be long enough for Tony to pull together his fraying temper and control. 

Obie had reappeared at breakfast. Tony read it in his body language and his smirk.  The man though he had the upper hand.  He thought he was going in for the kill.  The man thought he was the big bad lion to Tony’s stupid sheep.

The man was a fool.

So, Tony had sat through that as well.  He had listened to the oily snake oil seller pitch his wares.  He’d listened to how Stane had laid it all down.  Either Tony do what he said, followed his directions or the estate would pay for nothing.  Not Tony’s schooling, his boarding, or even Jarvis’s funeral. And wouldn’t that be a tragedy, having such a faithful and loyal servant buried in a pauper’s grave.  What would the papers say?

Tony had just sat there for a minute and watched the smug expression.  They had known this would come, they had suspected the track Stane’s machinations would take.  So the rage soothed and quiescent Tony could enjoy the moment fully. 

“It’s already paid for.” He had said taking another sip.  “Been for months.”

Later he would print out the picture of Stane’s expression.   It was amazing that Stane hadn’t given in, had resisted the urge to strangle or even just beat Tony.  Obie’s choleric expression had said as much.  The white knuckled hands had revealed it all. 

Tony hadn’t said anything else.  He had just wanted to see what Stane’s next move would be. Would Stane break and give in the clenched hands and the violence Tony saw behind his eyes.  One blow, one bruise backed by any evidence at all and Stane would lose.  And they both knew it.

Those had been his moments of sharpest clarity.  Those were the times he had been able to feed that feral amusement and stave off the whispers.  Rage and guilt subsumed the warmth from nights of strategy and planning.  Every day of facing down and off against Stane ate at his control a little more, but he had done it.  It had taken all of his skills in manipulation, in defection and those newer ones of acting, to keep the masks in place and his thoughts out of his eyes. 

But it had all paid off.  All those knife edged days and sleepless night. 

The other pay off had come from knowing exactly what Stane’s opinion of Tony was.  The seeing and hearing the truth had been a relief after hours and hours of listening to the lies.  He had watched Stane be himself, all arrogance and pride.  Tony had spied on the older man talking to a very select group of individuals. He’d listened closely to how the older man had not bothered to spare anyone’s sensibilities when he’d described the Stark heir.  He hadn’t bothered to be _kind_ is report that Tony was spoiled self-absorbed brat.  The older man hadn’t even bothered to hide his plan from those _interested parties_.

So the tension had been created and maintained.  Planning and checking versus arrogant acting.  Keeping in character, keeping to the script and pretending to follow Obie’s ideas and suggestions all the while suspended over a chasm deep and wide.  Twenty steps ahead, manipulating events and even people so Tony always had a way out.

Moments of relief were saved for later.  Those brief periods of respite when he could go back over the video feed as really see Stane act and react.  They had been in Tony’s own smug knowledge that the man hadn’t had a clue.   Tony had found relief in the verification that for another day he had been as meticulous as the programmer and as careful as the welder. 

There had been moment of heart stopping dread; times when Tony though that maybe just maybe Stane suspected something.   Tony always had to keep in mind what Stane knew.  He knew Tony was a genius, he knew the kind of pressure and observation that Tony had been raised in. 

But every time Stane would go in that direction he always talked himself out of it.  There was someone else, someone with an agenda right there.  Tony could see it in the man’s face too when Obie decided that for all shark filled waters that Tony may have been raised in, Stane was one of the most successful businessmen and had played in the highest levels of the business world.  And of course there was Stane’s own survival in very murky waters.  So no mere wet behind the ears kid could play him at all.

The poor deluded bastard, the truth was that Stane was at more of a disadvantage than Howard had been.  The old man had suspected; he had been able to see the clues Tony had purposefully left.  Howard had grasped it finally, too late but he had _understood_ who and what he was dealing with.

Tony wasn’t going to give Stane the same clues, the same curtesy.  In Tony’s mind, Stane was already trying stack the deck, so it was only fair that Tony mark the cards.  

Unlike Stane, Tony knew exactly who and what he was dealing with and never ever underestimated the other man.

In the business world Stane had a reputation as a ruthless player.  The man was known for his hard tactics and his less than fair dealings with those that he considered his inferiors.  Howard had, long ago when Howard still bothered to talk at his son, warned Tony that Stane never played by any rules than his own and would resort to less than legal methods if the stakes were high enough.

And Stane liked to go on the other side of legal.  And why not, he was Obadiah Stane, who would touch him. One saving grace was that he paid well.  Over the years he had developed his own little circle of criminals and contacts. Information, it was always about information; any piece or hint on corporate or even personal security and weaknesses.  Those core contacts were solid and unreplaceable, but below them.  Well, hackers were a dime a dozen these days and even the really good ones could still manage to get themselves arrested, subverted or even but rarely killed.

Shockingly agencies like SHIELD were a tab bit bloodthirsty when they found someone poking around in places they didn’t belong, even if it was electronically.

Those losses made the perfect grounds for someone to swoop in and offer their services, and raise every inch of highly developed senses of suspicion and self-preservation.  Beside the Механик hadn’t ever had to troll for contracts.  His reputation and rumored strings of successes meant that people came to him.  And when this packet of files crossed the hacker’s figurative desk, well it did sound interesting enough.  

The rest, as the saying went, was history.

Tony hated to admit it, but Howard had also given Tony the clues to the real skeletons in Stane’s closet.  Maybe it was more a tribute to Howard’s own paranoia than anything else, but Obie’s every clandestine meeting, all those shady deals and even secret exchanges had all been recorded and filed.  Each and every one logged and saved to one of Howard’s special servers where it had gathered dust and deniability until Tony had liberated it. 

When Tony had seen it all there had been no gasp of shock, no sense of surprise. He had learned too much about Hydra and their practices.    The overwhelming crush of intimidation, the aura of power, and the whisper of all those secrets were an aphrodisiac to men like Stane.  How he must have salivated when they had offered him what looked to be untouchable power and money.  Vices, it was always about vices with some people. 

In exchange all Stane had to do was keep the Starks in line.  Help SI corner the market in weapons and make sure to keep it.  Simple things like that.

Apparently Stane had no orders to keep Howard Stark alive, glaring oversight there.  Stane must have considered this, what would happen with no Howard.  Stane was arrogant, but was he arrogant enough to think he could replace Howard as the force behind SI? 

Really, Stane was a good engineer; he was near the top of the builders and manufacturers.  But for all that brain power, for all savvy Obie lacked one crucial element, one that couldn’t be bought, couldn’t be learned. Innovation, Stane wasn’t an inventor.  The man lacked flair that Howard had once upon a time.

Years ago Tony had made it a point to tap both Howard’s and Obie’s communications.  There had been upgrades and refinement, but Tony had always kept an eye on things.  Most of it had been boring business things Tony never cared about, but recently, well those conversations had been enlightening.  They had given him the jump to be able to monitor things other than the phones and email.  Tony had found the drop sites, the meeting places and gotten what he could.  So he had heard it when Stane had made the new deal.

Stane swore he could do it; he could keep the monopoly on the weapons. The how, though, that had Tony snarling and laughing.  The older man had laid it on so thick, how he could control Tony, get the teen to rely on him and him alone and be just as productive as Howard.

Tony forced his hands to unclench from the memory.  He had to be calm.  Stane was gone back to Los Angeles.  Just as Tony had calculated and he had hoped a month had been the limit.  SI needed Stane, and needed him with a firm hand on the tiller.  And absent CEO wouldn’t do not so soon after the loss of the business’s founder.  Investor and board member nervousness had won.

And by default Tony had won as well.  Stane had left the field.

Now Tony was alone. No maids, no butlers, no one at all.  That had almost been impossible, but his stubbornness won out. Every reason he’d given had made sense. Why bother with the expense when Tony hadn’t been certain about his own plans.  There had been no point in it.  Tony had even played the grieving son, for his mother at least.  Oh and the arguments over that. Tony had played the spoiled pain in the ass to the hilt while Obie had frowned and glared.  And most of all, the thing Tony never said, he never wanted anyone in the house that would report back to anyone but himself. 

Dusting off his hands Tony got up.  He had things to do and little time to waste. 

First things first, Howard’s workshop had to go.  He’d keep all papers; he’d even wrap the prototypes.  If someone wanted those twisted wrecks of rusted metal, Tony might just give them away.  Nothing here was valuable.  No a single idea wasn’t already in production or obsolete, mostly obsolete.

He thought about it for a minute and decided.  They would better serve as a bargaining chip.  More than once Obie had ruined Tony’s appetite with a few remarks about how Howard hadn’t let him into the shop, how he wanted to keep any of the ideas fresh and alive.  Tony’s been rolling his eyes at Howard’s above ground ideas for years.  But Stane hadn’t seen them, and that gave Tony the edge.

The last box pushed to secure storage, the last bit of dust and garbage swept and binned and Tony could attack the wiring and the power.  Tony had ideas, he needs to update a lot of this, and he has to secure it.  Howard had relied on contractors and military concepts.  Tony had all of the ways that Механик infiltrated and penetrated systems.  If Tony could secure a system so well he couldn’t get in, then most of the rest of world would be left in the dark. 

But he also wasn’t stupid.  He knew that an ‘unbreakable’ system would raise flags and challenges.  So he layered things.  A high end and slightly modified system one that Anthony Edward Stark would be able to afford first.  Get in here and you could find minor things, movies and documents that one would expect, college papers and such.  The next layer, if you could see it was all Tony Stark.  This was the one a genius engineer would build.  Crack this there was just a bit more.  Some documents, things scanned in from Howard’s old blue prints.

Everything and anything under those systems was a lie.

The final layer, there was nothing to see there.  Invisible and silent waiting for someone to make their move; and it was off tracking and hunting.  Not directly, not even in a way that would alert the hacker. All of the programs written and designed by Механик were on the prowl here. 

There was one more piece of security that Tony needed desperately though.

Howard was gone and never coming back.  So now Tony could clam the workshop.  Dummy was already there charging in a corner.  A good number of Tony’s computers and machines had their homes here too.   He turned to the bank of monitors and arched his hands over the keyboard. 

Then he stopped. He couldn’t. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t think, and couldn’t create.  He needed to be able to lose himself in the codes and programming.  He needed to be able to drop down into the space where he could pull all the pieces together. 

Here he couldn’t.

Solid doors and even his security were not enough not against the threat of Stane, Hydra and all of them out there. There was too much of a risk when they know where he was and had the insider information to get to him. 

Oh he knew, and so did anyone that thought about it for a minute.  Tony turning up dead now would be sheer idiocy. The young heir dead, whether by “accident” or design in his own home would raise too many flags and too much suspicion. All of it would fall directly on Stane, even with the man conveniently on the other side of the country. 

But Tony could think of ways to do it.  Anyway it happened some suspicion would always fall in that direction, there is no avoiding it.  But it would be too remote too minor for a drugged up addict to hit a supposedly empty house or even a despondently drunk Tony dying in a car accident.  Then there were the more likely, a botched kidnapping by some of Howard’s old enemies. 

No, the workshop was too exposed, too easily accessible. Tony couldn’t create here.  He couldn’t drop here.  He needed to be hidden, needed to be safe, and needed to be….his eyes darted to the hidden door. He needed to be somewhere else.

The chill air of the sub-basement wrapped around him comforting him, relaxing him.  Some of it was just as Howard had left it.  There hadn’t been much time, most of the times when Stane had been away had been taken up with the immediate needs, but he’d managed a little.  He’d gotten a few computers down here; one’s Tony had built from the chips out. 

He’d also managed to modify the servers.  About a third were still just as Howard had left them. Those were for the surveillance systems and bugs Howard had monitored for Hydra.  After all while knew for certain where the servers had been located, they had known it was the same as the tank and the chair. Some, like Stane suspected it must be on the ground somewhere.  So with the only other person that had known for sure of its location and how to access it Tony wasn’t about to do anything to confirm it.  He wasn’t about to blow that kind of advantage.

His area wasn’t big, but it was big enough with the station and monitors.  He even pulled down a nest of blankets and pillows for him to rest in.  Best of all it was all set up where he couldn’t see the chair, couldn’t see the tank.  Tony knew he’d have to make decisions about those, but not now. Now he had to work.

It was the weight, this far down, locked behind the doors and the systems that drained away the last of the tension and the fear.  And here he could feel the first edges of that relentless focus.  Here in this new place he could leave everything else behind. Here there is no Anthony Edward Stark.  He doesn’t have to be Tony fucking Stark, and no one is forcing him into the Mechanic’s uniform. 

He could just be.  It was heaven, nirvana, all those places.  It was not quiet nor was it still.  The ideas and pieces swarmed and divided, tumbled and twirled without end and without beginning. They filled his vision just as the loud music filled his ears. He could live here and be content.  No pauses and no interruption just the soothing motion of his hands transmitting the coding born in his brain.  Soon, all too soon he was done.  His long elegant hands turned off the music when the last piece was placed and the final part of the coding finished rendering.

“Hello sir.” A modulated voice rang out in the room.

His smile was bright and his eyes manic even as the crisp accent stabbed him in the chest.  Exhaustion curled and tugged; its gritty hands tried to pull him under.  His vision blurred. He slipped down onto the floor.  Tony didn’t want to consider moving, must less standing.  Balance seemed closer to one of those Schrodinger’s cat situation. He was quite content to stay right where he was, on the floor. 

[“Amazing.”]

Tony didn’t turn, he just let the smile twist his lips.

[“Welcome home, Медвежонок”] Tony said as strong hands, both flesh and metal gripped under his arms and pulled him up.

[“I’m sorry.”]  James said simply as he held the smaller man close.

He just shrugged and leaned into the warmth and support.  When Tony finally did lean back enough to look at the soldier his smile broadened. James had already stripped away the mask and the goggles.  He’d already clean off the paint stripping way the veneer of the Winter Soldier.  Dressed in jeans and one of Tony’s old t-shirts he looked like nothing more than well-muscled and slightly scruffy twenty-something. Without knowing the shape of that face and the history behind it, without that little clue no one would guess what he was much less who he had been.

But Tony didn’t bother to think about this. He just soaked up the warmth and the presence, missing for too long.   He only grumbled a protest when James shifted them both so he could sit on Tony’s abandoned chair.

[“And idea of what happens now?’] Tony asked instead curling under the metal arm and mostly into the other man’s lap.  It had been a risk.  Howard had never officially been given the Soldier.  The older Stark had been charged with maintenance and repair only on paper.  He had been give control of the delicate cryo-chamber.  While others had chambers and chairs, those had proven themselves vastly inferior to the originals. The Soldier had belonged to Hydra’s higher ups.  Removing Howard had it downsides after all.

 [“It’s all a blame game.  No one is willing to admit that they did it. “]

[“And you?”] Tony tightened his hold.

[“Your fix is working just fine.  They all believe I was wiped after the mission.”] He could feel the amusement in James’s voice. He didn’t need to look up to see the smirk on his face. 

Tony sighed letting one worry go. Without the willingness to try the chair, or the time to have Howard do it the true effectiveness had been the glaring question.   

It had taken so long to recreate Howard’s nanites.  The fabrication had consumed Tony for months.  The programing had taken the rest.  Not the base pieces, those had been easy.  He had set up both defensive and offensive capabilities.  He had pulled anything and everything on neurology and brain chemistry. Pouring over ideas and theories until his head swam.

The hardest thing to account for had always been James’s own part to play.  They had talked about, argued about it.  But that had been James’s choice, his decision.  They had to maintain James’s ability to not just portray, but be the Winter Soldier, to continue as the dutiful and perfect puppet.  Tony had sweated out that fine line between portrayal and reality until it had met and match all of James’s requirements.

They had faced the reality that Howard’s chair wasn’t the only one and Tony didn’t and couldn’t alter them all.  So there would be wipes and there would be mission.  Tony had wanted to keep James whole, to keep him always from all of that.  He’d wept so many times with James when the soldier had retained enough self awareness and control to remember his missions, to experience the first hand horror at what he was being forced to do when Hydra pushed him into the Asset mentality.

There were no better alternatives, no better methods.  They both knew the breath and extent of Hydra’s penetration, their reach.   In the end it had been James’s call and Tony’s acquiescence.

Tony never blamed him, never pressured him.  Even as the asset the man always found his way home.  But time hadn’t on their side. 

Two months before Howard’s death Tony had finished.  They managed to carve out three days when the higher ups had thought Howard was seeing to the Soldier and Howard thought the Soldier out on another task.  Three days, they had only three days to nail it all down.  Did James want the memories that were still out there?  What would the best path be to protect him from the wipes and the words balanced against the best way to keep him alive.

On the question of memories, the older ones before the Soldier James hadn’t wanted those back, not now.  Maybe someday when they didn’t have to worry about Stane and Strucker and Sterns were nothing but old nightmares.

No they had instead focused on reactions and prompts.  God knew there was enough footage for Tony to get it right.  Tony had never flinched from any of it.  He couldn’t.  The mannerisms had to be perfect, had to be exact.  There could be no hesitation and nothing could change at all. So Tony had watched listening to James screaming in the chair.  He had paid attention to how he looked and every tick and twitch.

Tony had no illusions, not when it came to Hydra.  He’d seen recording of what happened during those sessions.  Tony hadn’t wanted to do it.  He hadn’t wanted to allow James to go back into that darkness.  And while it tore into him every time the other man had to leave, Tony had done it.  After all it was James’s decision, his choice not Tony’s. 

James wasn’t whole, might not ever be, but no longer a slave and a blank tool for whoever held the commands.  It was slow and careful.  The path was treacherous and deadly.  One false step, one wrong more and they both would die, or worse. 

Howard had always ranted and preached about how good a man the Captain had been. How glorified his own sacrifices trying to bring the body home.  Tony once had listened and then his had ignored it until turning away from it all.  The man had been dead for fifty years. Let the ignorant nation canonize him, Tony wanted to save the one that was still alive.

[“Zvyozdochka.”] James whispered in Tony’s ear pulling him all the way into his lap. [“I’m sorry.”]

Tony squirmed and twisted until his was straddling not curled up in it.   

[“What other way was there?”] Tony gave up pretending and leaned back a little.  [“Heart attack or illness? There would be inquests and autopsies.  Shooting?”] He turned his bleak look up at the man. [“The authorities would have never stopped looking.”  ]

Tony played with a hole in leg of James’s jeans.

[“And Stane would have had another hold over me.”] The man said with a bitter Russian curse.

[“Over us.”] Tony corrected. [ “Over both of us медвежонок.”]

[“Stane is the closest Hydra operative.”]

Tony knew James was right.  Stane is the closest agent with any awareness of the Soldier.  He couldn’t think about it right now.  He couldn’t think about the things they had set in motion.  The orders they had forged and the manipulation they had done.  And Tony sure as hell didn’t want to think about the other people in that car.

Instead he curled his legs around the other man’s waist pulled them together.  His motions are slow and deliberate.  It gave his медвежонок time to react, time to step away.  Once when this had started between them it had been to make sure that the other man would or could.  Now it was a game.  One where the prize was in watching the curl of the man’s lips and the way his pupils blow.

[“Are you sure?”] Tony asked as his hand slid down the muscled chest.  They slip a little on the metal and leather of the belt but then smoothly slip it free.

[“Quite sure, Zvyozdochka.”] The reassuring words were spoken against his mouth and the metal hand pulled him closer while the other finishes what Tony started. 

They were not Tony Stark and James Barnes, not now.  One can’t fully exist and one didn’t.

There will be a day, Tony promises himself.  When James Barnes can be and maybe just maybe he will be able to give that to him.

When they laid in a tangle of exhaustion and satisfaction on the pile of blankets and pillows James carded fingers through Tony’s hair. 

[“What is his name?”] James asked.

Tony didn’t pretend to misunderstand.  His gaze shifted for a minute to the servers where there was life growing and learning. 

“JARVIS.”


	6. Age 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you think you have won, all you have done is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings before we begin: Graphic depictions of the after affects of violence. Blood and gore. 
> 
> Russian Terms of Endearment: Zvyozdochka – little star. Медвежонок- Teddy Bear.  
> Механик – Mechanic  
> Bold: Memories
> 
> Okay. So I’ve written and rewritten this a hundred times (so not kidding). Thank you for all the wonderful feedback I really appreciate it. When I had started this whole thing I had planned it out a certain way and had all the logical reasons in the world for it. I’ve mapped out the other stories trying to keep things as close to canon as possible. For that to happen, this needs to happen. 
> 
> So, kind of sorry.  
> That being said there will more than likely be other short stories in this time period with more plot and interaction. I just don’t want to spoil it all before the main lines are done.  
> 

# Chapter 6 – Age 21

 

Tires on driveways sounded different, felt different than on roads.  Tony felt the shift, heard the resonance shift just slightly.  He looked up from his papers and stared at the house framed by setting sun and the lines of trees.  The gold and the green blend looking like something out of a painting.

A small smile quirked his lips and he let it.  He won’t the let the moisture in his eyes fall.  Not here and not now.  He’s relieved to be back that’s all.

There is a slight movement on his left.  Tony didn’t look, didn’t let his eyes drift over to the two men.  He just opened his door getting out once the car stopped.  Happy would understand, hell Happy was probably of the same mind.   After all they had been stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum for three days.

Tony was done.

Soon, soon he would be able to let it all go.   Soon he wouldn’t have to worry about strangers over his shoulders and in his face.  But right now?  Right now he can ignore them.

He could pretend he didn’t see their annoyance when he didn’t wait for them to scan the area.  He let their disapproval slide right off of him when he opened the side door.

And it’s those actions that cement it for Tony.  Those little things told him all he needed to know. Real bodyguards wouldn’t put up with that.  Tony had a real bodyguard, should have had the same guard, and he would have been dumped on his ass the second Tony tried to pull this shit on him.

**“I can’t come with you Zvyozdochka.”**

**Tony paused in his packing. He started to say something, anything really. Then he took in the defeated slump to the shoulders, the way that James’s hands hung down limply between his legs like even resting on his thighs took too much strength.**

**“Okay.” There was so much Tony wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.**

Every lock was a misdirection. JARVIS had a hook in every system, every camera.  There is a lot of comfort in knowing that, a touch of apprehension.

“Leave the bags in the kitchen.” He didn’t bother turning around, but he still could feel the driver’s eyes on him.  He’d give Happy a raise or something to make up for it.  Three days of arrogant asshole Tony and it was a surprise that the man hasn't bashed his head in yet.

The guards probably would have let him.

He sorted through the stack of mail, an absent smile blooming when he saw just how they had been coded.  Trust Dummy to express himself so freely and in such a unique way.

Tony flipped them into piles.  Junk, begging letters and various other communications all marked with various sized smears of grease.  Some, ones that Tony was certain were from …past acquaintances had a coating of a dried something… that he really didn’t want to identify.

Passive aggressive little shit.

He finished the same time that the “guards” finally stomped into the house.  Amazing what you could learn in the things they didn’t do. 

“Thank you for your service.  Mr. Hogan will make sure you get to where you need to go. “

Out of the corner of his eye Tony saw the way Happy shifted into more of a stance.  Tony’s smile sharpened. His real attention was on their hands.  He wanted them to go for their weapons.  He wanted to know what Stane’s limits had been.

“Mr Stark our job-“

Tony cut off the first idiot’s attempt ignore the thinly disguised dismissal.

“You job is Stark Industries.” Tony waved around the room.  “Here is not Stark Industries.”

“Sir, we are here for your protection.”

Tony kept the snort of disbelief behind his teeth.

“Thank you, but no.” he kept his tone pleasant.

“We need to clear the premises.” The first said moving for the door into the house.

Tony turned from the stack and held both men with his glare. “No thank you.”  His tone never changed, it didn’t have to.  Three heads snapped in his direction.  “Go file a complaint with Stane.”  He made it snide and just a little touch of insinuation.

**“Stane’s hired bodyguards.” James never met his eyes, staring down at the floor shoulders hunched and sagging.**

**Tony shrugged. “So I’ll fire them.”**

**Now Tony got the ‘Don’t be an idiot’ look.**

**“You can’t.  He hired them through SI.  Until you have the papers signed you don’t have the power.**

**Tony saw the shape of the trap.  “And when I am I’ll have no excuse to fire them. Damn.”**

“I’ll be back in a bit boss.” Happy said opening the back door for the two men.  “This way gentlemen the jet will get you back to Los Angeles.”

“Take the rest of the day off Happy.” Tony groan.  “I’m going to grab a bite and then sleep.”

“You got it boss.  I’ll call in the morning.”

He had to be patient, had to wait.  He listened for the sound of doors, all three, opening and closing.  He waited until he heard the gentle shift of tires. He listened to everything as it faded and faded until it was gone.

“J?” he called when all he heard outside was silence.

Nothing, no response.

“JARVIS?” he called and was already in motion.

Of course there had been no texts, no call.  They had all agreed, and he had trusted. It was over, there should have been somethings.  Dread pulled cold and toxic in his gut.

“JARVIS, voice.” A command protocol one that would get any sort of communication, anything at all to say that the AI had heard him.

**Tony looked over the data:  Intercepted messages, stolen files and not a few interrogations. “I’m missing something.”**

**James was studying the wall of maps, pictures, and timelines.  “Three days until you take over the company.” He muttered rubbing at the stubble on his chin.**

**Tony shook his head. “Too many cameras, too much media.”**

**James just grunted again, his eyes narrowed and focused.**

His voice was horse and rough by the time he slammed into the shop.  Only the echoes of his own calls echoed back at him slicing in his control, his foundation; a thousand tiny cuts.

His hand shook, he fumbled the code once, then again. The third time he managed to keep his fingers steady enough to get the damn numbers right.

The bottom door was jammed, his engineering eye calculating the force needed to back it buckle and bow like that.

He didn’t think, didn’t care just the right pressure in the right places to tear the failing hinges.  

He screamed again, calling and pleading, for James, for JARVIS, both, or just someone.  Dum-E his every faithful trundled down beside him.  

Dark, the room was dark.  It shouldn’t be, it never way.  JARVIS didn’t like the lights being left off down here. 

The stench made it hard to think. The hot copper tang shot straight to his brain. A putrid and sickeningly sweet odor drifted in after it.  They flared too many memories and too many nightmares.

**Blood spurted up into his face and splattered over his goggles when he slid the knife free.**

**One down.**

**He surged forward focused on the next target, letting the chaotic sounds around him wash over him, through him filtering out the things he needed to know.**

**Finally the last guard fell under his blade.  Finally he could breathe a little.  The knife was wiped down and sheathed, he’d clean it later.  He sensed the movement, the intent before they move a hand clamped on his shoulder.   He felt the squeeze even through the armored shirt.**

**“Good job Механик”**

He hit the emergency switch.  The hum of current filled the room.  Sparks flared and popped but finally a few lights managed to flicker on.

Wires drooped from the ceiling, their shredded edges snapping sparks.  Speakers were blown and hissed an under tone of static throughout the room.  The lights hadn’t fared much better, they swung on pulled chains still valiantly working despite the damage.   Their moving illumination spilling rocking shadows in the carnage.

He walked through the debris, the blood and fluids ruining his shoes.  He didn’t care.  Tony squatted down next to a bigger body piece, a section of chest judging from the way the white bones stuck out from the edges.

Nothing on the scraps of uniforms, nothing on the weapons, or what remain in twisted pieces of fabricated metal.

His eyes roamed the room seeing and studying.  Shredded bodies and blooded bits blown out.  He rose and followed the pattern backwards to the source.

**“Someone’s going to find this someday.” James mused.**

**Tony shifted a little rotating his hips just a touch and smiled feral and wild as he wrung a groan out of his partner.  “Making me feel a little unappreciated here Медвежонок.”**

**Gray eyes bored into his and Tony bit back his own sounds when strong hands gripped his hips.  “Not unappreciative.” The other man pulled him down for a long slow kiss.**

**Tony’s brain buzzed and hummed when he was finally released.**

**“They’re asking more questions.”**

**Every fizzle of lust, every bit of the fog in his mind gone in that single moment.**

**“Thank you Captain Mood killer.” Tony grumbled and grabbed his shirt.**

He found the path in the widening sections of blacked and charred swaths.  He read in the thickening of the shrapnel as he moved closer to the source.  At the end he found the scorched and cracked stone and melted metal.  He mentally fitted the pieces together with the projected velocities and accelerations.  Fabrication units, but those wouldn’t explode, not like this even if there was a grenade or an RPG.  Self-Destruction was the only answer.

Tony ignored the trails tears made when they ran down his face.  He didn’t bother to wipe them away.  He just stared down at the epicenter.  He couldn’t think about the why, couldn’t let the how run free in his head.  But it did anyway.

Three people could initiate it.  First James or Tony, JARVIS could, but only under a specific set of circumstances.

His mind tried to shy away, from picturing James in this room when it happened.  He had no proof, nothing to say that had been in here.

Except, James had said he would be back.  He would be waiting for Tony.

Tony dropped to his knees and let the tears fall.

**Strong arms held on to him.  Tony didn’t want to leave this place, this warmth.  He stared at the clock wishing that the numbers wouldn’t change.**

**“I’ll be here.” James rumbled in Tony’s ear.**

**Tony sank into the promise in the words and the ones in the way the arms cradled him.**

**“Promise?” He knew he sounded like a damn kid, all needy and-**

**The press of lips where Tony’s neck and shoulder’s joined stopped the ramble of self-doubt.**

**“I promise Zvyozdochka.  I will be waiting here when you get back.”**

He’d taken an extra day.  Tony ignored the sharp sting and tear of metal edges and broken stones cutting through his pants.  He sank down on hands and knees and sobbed.  Tears and blood mixed over his hands and he didn’t give a damn.

A day, a fucking day because he wasn’t good enough to find a reason, some day excuse when Stane had pressured him into one more meeting, one more interview.

_Information first, Action second._

His limbs felt like lead, but he staggered to his feet.  He dragged himself over to where the servers had been.  His every step with step was echoed with the snap of sparks and the hiss of broken speakers. There was no comfort just the embers glowing in his thoughts.

There was no need to sift through this wreckage.  He didn’t need to look at the individual pieces to know that they were destroyed. Not broken, not wrecked, but absolutely gutted. 

Gone where the compromised servers, the Hydra ones.  The things that Tony could monitor but dared not destroy.  One more link of Howard’s collar gone forever.

Terms like 'impossible to reconstruct' and 'gone forever' burble in Tony’s head, but he never accepted those ideas, the concepts too foreign to be believe. Metal, circuits, and electricity, they were his, all his.  He knew the way they whispered and the way they moved.  He understood the way to tease out of the littlest piece of data from stress tests to reclamation. No one had burned these to a crisp, melted them to slag so Tony still could find their secrets.

Not now. 

But JARVIS…

JARVIS had been born in the liberated blades.  He had grown up there, testing boundaries and limits.

And he had moved from there.

**The numbers moved, but Tony snarled at the pace.  His hands clenching and releasing as he fought down the urge to do something anything at all.**

**He lasted a few more percentage ticks before he was up and pacing the room.**

**“Worse than a nervous father in the waiting room.” James teased never looking up from the table.   Tony didn’t need to see the bastard’s face he could hear the that smirk loud and clear.**

**Tony stopped at the table hands crossed over his chest. He waited until the stillness and silence forced James to look up to make an assessment and catch his eyes.  Tony raised an elegant eyebrow his gaze sweeping over the table top.  The huge table top where ever inch was covered by weapons.  He didn’t say a word about the stunning array of sizes and types.  He manfully refrained from pointing out how they all had been examined, dismantled, cleaned and reassembled. He let the amused silence speak for itself.**

JARVIS core wasn’t here.  His presence was, but not his heart.  That fact kept Tony moving.  No, the AI had scattered his servers with the same meticulousness Tony had used for setting up safe houses and accounts.  Upstairs, the connection node wasn’t here; it was upstairs and tucked away. 

The trip back up never impinged on his memory, he only roused when the air smelled of ozone and steel instead of blood and gore.

Five minutes, that was all it took to find the problem.  He flipped through the systems with quick impatient fingers.  Whoever it wasn’t hadn’t pushed past the second wall, they hadn’t bothered to look deeper.  Their attack on the security was just that an attack on a security system.  EMP and rerouting, a ham fisted approach that worked because it set up a block to keep JARVIS from reintegrating those systems.

He shifted a few of the lines, found the pesky little traps left behind.  He isolated them and set his own trackers on the trail of whoever had done this, whoever dared to hurt his family.

It didn’t take long either to give JARVIS to the opening he needed, to hold open that space for just long enough.

“I’m sorry Sir.” The crisp formal tone was sharp and cold in Tony’s ear.

He should have suspected, should have known.

**His faced ached; he spit and saw the blood mixed in with the saliva.  Probing the throbbing teeth he didn’t feel anything broken, nothing seemed missing.**

**“You still have your pretty face.”**

**Tony rolled his eyes and looked at the masked face peering down at him.**

**He shifted until he could slide his cuffed hands under his legs.  Breathing through the strain he slipped them around his feet.**

**“You did all this handcuffed?” Now the disbelief in James’s voice was just down right insulting.**

**Tony surveyed the carnage.  A smile flickered over his face when he saw the monitors blown, the computers fried.**

**A job well done in his mind.**

Tony just smiled.  “Not your fault J.” he soothed.  But the frozen ache in his chest eased just a little.  One, he had one of them back. Sniffing back the tears Tony stood up.

“We have work to do J.” he said tromping back down the stairs.

“Reestablishing connection with the house systems now; estimated time to completion ten minutes.”

He needed that unwavering certainty.  He needed the support to hold himself up in. 

 “No access to the upstairs was attempted.”

Tony’s bitter laugh echoed through the room.  Of course not, he slumped down against the wall and leaned his head back against the dirty stone.

Time that was all they needed.  Time to get in; get what they had come for and get out.

It all made sense now.  All those little pieces that he could never account for: kidnapping attempts just serious enough to be believed, two assassination plots found in the planning stages, all those rumors and whispers of plans and plots for one Tony Stark.

Pride and arrogance, his sins wrought in blood and flesh. Stupid, fucking stupid that he had never seen it, never guessed.

Tony had never been the real target.  Not that they wouldn’t have taken advantage of things if Tony had somehow been captured, but Stark that wasn’t the prize they had their eyes on. 

The Soldier.

All their plans, all the ideas that he and James had laid out, had planned out.  Had they been seen through, had someone put the pieces together and realized the lies that had been spun?

**Tony watched James sleep.  Empty coffee cups littered the side table, but Tony never closed his eyes.  He watched the way the man breathed scanning for the slightest change.  His gaze traveled across every inch of the soldier’s body searching for the slightest twitch.**

**“Sir, you need to sleep.”**

**Tony waved away JARVIS’s reminder.  He studied the metal arm, the way if fit, he wanted to see it move, wanted to see how it shifted.**

**He’d done it.  Some small part of his brain just couldn’t process it.  He kept glancing over to the work desk, to see the old one still resting there.  Identical, both arms were the same externally, down to the tiniest detail.**

**“Were you able to do it J?” he whispered not wanting to disturb the man unconscious on the cot.**

**“Yes Sir.” The AI’s tone was just as soft. “I was able to upload the changes in Howard Stark’s notes.**

**Tony just nodded.  The best thing about his father, the man was predictable.  Nothing of his tech, nothing of his plans and projects where he couldn’t control it.**

**Tony breathed a sigh of relief.  He eyed the empty side of the cot, that sliver of space where a small body could curl up.  A few minutes, that wouldn’t hurt.  If he just closed his eyes for a few minutes.**

**“I will wake you should Master Barnes stir.”**

_Facts first._

He took a deep breath ignoring the miasma that tainted the air. 

“How long?” he asked softly.

“Thirteen hours and thirty seven minutes.”

Fuck.

“How much longer?”

“Eight minutes and twenty two seconds.”

He needed to move, needed something to occupy his mind.  His brain was fumbling twisting around with probabilities and theories, shredding through ephemeral things such as hope.

How had they done it?  He wondered getting back up.  His steps were unsteady, but he didn’t care. He braced himself on fallen struts and slabs not noticing when they tore at his palms and sliced into his fingers.   He never thought about how the sharp pieces pierced his shoes.  He never looked at the new blood that dotted the floor with his every step.

If he had bothered to think about it, he might have called it penance, if he believed in such a thing and punishment if he didn’t.

He hefted and tossed pieces aside.  There was no point to trying to recover any of it.  There was no point in bothering to put it back together.  It was gone, the fabrication units, the design stations, all of it destroyed.

A giggle escaped his lips.  He smeared away a coating of sot, had they tried to pull the data from them.  Did they think that no safe guards existed?

“Systems logs restored.”  JARVIS intoned and Tony looked away from the mess.  “Last logged entry was Barnes, James Buchanan at 2237.”

Tony felt the tears slide down.  He would have been home; he would have been just getting back.

“Initial System comprise at 2321.”

He didn’t say anything, just let the litany continue.

“Second intrusion at 2331.”

“Perimeter Breach at 2345.”

“Outer wall breach at 2350.”

Like clockwork then, whoever this had been.  Each step perfectly timed.

“Self-Destruct Systems initiated at 2353.”

**“How would you do it?”**

**Tony looked up from his workbench, but he didn’t jump.  That was the important thing.  “Do what?” he asked instead.  He kept his hands buried in the circuit and wires.**

**“Take this place down?” James replied**

**Tony took a closer look.  Nothing, no expression and gray eyes looked over the room with a sheen of vacant.  One of those moments.**

**“Are we talking post-apocalyptic scenario or invasion?”  Sometimes he just had to roll with it and hope he could stumble on to whatever bug had gotten into the Soldier’s programing this time.**

**“Invasion.  How would you shut it down if Hydra managed to get in here?”**

He nodded numbly, but it nagged at him.

None of the weapons caches had been touched.  James wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.

“Where was the breech at?” He asked pulling his mind away from it.  He didn’t have enough, not yet.

“Northwest wall, 5 meters from the northern corner.”

Tony stared at the unbroken lines.  He pulled a flashlight shining and started from the corner.

That corner made sense.  He tripped past the modern metals and the shards of plastic.  He wouldn’t have noticed at first, not until all the mess had been cleaned.

Tony swore loudly and viciously.  He still couldn’t see where they entered, but that wasn’t where his thoughts were, no his eyes were scanning the debris again, but he wasn’t looking for what was there.

He was searching for what wasn’t.

This was all new, modern alloys and synthetics.

“J?” he called for the AI’s attention working his way further into the edges of the shop.  “Do we have any scanners left online?”

“A few sir, mostly thermal and IR.”

Not what he needed.  Some genius he was.  All of his equipment Tony had riddled with fail safes, he had programed in destruction and tamper guards.  But all his designs, all his creations nothing matched the potential of the two damn pieces he hadn’t. 

He dug through the remains, maybe he was wrong, maybe they had shattered or been buried.  He shifted scraps.  A jolt from tattered wires made him yelp and jerk back.

 “Sir, I’ve turned off the power to the lower outlets.”

Tony ignored the disapproval.  It was a little jolt barely strong enough to register, but he missed them, those little pinpricks reminding him that he was still there, that he could still feel.

Plastic, industrial grade aluminum, plastics coated wiring, Tony shifted them all.  No hardened steel, no blown glass, no tubes, each and every scrap crafted and manufactured in the last twenty years.

He sank down into the cracked and stained floor.

Nothing from World War II, nothing, not a shard of glass or steel and not a leak of fluid.

Gone.

The chair, the chamber, even Howard’s damnable files were gone.  Tony hefted a piece of scrap at his feet and threw it at the wall. Chest heaving he started at where a piece vibrated firmly stuck into that perfect wall.  All emotion, all the numbness, all of it slipped away like tattered fog.  Logic, reason, curiosity bloomed. He felt an itch, something pulling at his brain, trying to still deny what he was seeing. 

 “J, Energy readings.”

He touched the shard frowning at how it was stuck fast to the wall.  He jerked it once, nothing. He pulled and he felt a little give.

“Sensors indicate uniform readings across the length of the wall. “

Tony heard it and smiled a little.  Yeah J was getting a little twitchy himself.  He ignored the ideas that floated up, the probabilities of damaged sensors, and of broken coding.

His hands skimmed the surface, and whatever this was tried playing with his mind.  He could feel the smooth edges of the walls, the skip of seams and the cool metal of outlets.  His fingers danced across the surface. He could see the piece sticking out of the damn wall.  What he couldn’t see was the impact point. Under that though were other things.  Thing scored and scratched his skin, edges that pulled open cuts; things that couldn’t be there.  Things he did not see.

He felt them; he saw the evidence in the scratches, the thin lines that welled up drops of blood.

**He found James coming up the hall.  “Hey,” he smiled pulling the man in for a kiss. “Where you looking for me?”**

**James gave him a strange look, one that Tony couldn’t figure out but ignored it for the feel of those lips on his and scent of home.**

He closes his eyes and felt it again. This time he didn’t focus on what his eyes were being told, but what his fingers did.  Now there was nothing of the smooth concrete and nothing of the chill of underground.   This time Tony could feel the sharp points and the cutting edges. 

This time he believed.

He spanned eight feet before his hands hit something odd.  Metal that made every nerve shiver and this stomach twist.  When his fingers clamped around it defying the roll of nausea a sharp sting of current jolted through him.

Opening his eyes Tony stared in wonder at the tiny device now clenched in him hands. His eyes flickered over the wall, and he could see it now, it wasn’t a door, or maybe it had been.  Now it was a tumbled down mess of metal.

Explosive entry, he concluded.

The questions of stability and security distracted him until white hot pain burns in his hand.

“Sir, I recommend-“

Tony was already in motion, throwing the object as far from himself as possible. He could only see a thing line of blue tinged metal before the whole thing burns red and then white.  It lands on a chunk of broken concrete sizzling and smoking into a pool as it cools.

“Any clue there J?” part his minds was beyond fascinated. 

“Considering that the device reached a maximum of 1600 degrees I am uncertain at this time.”

Later, that was something he could look at later. 

Cradling his burnt hand Tony turned back to the wall.

In the rubble he could find the pieces, the sections of lintel, the chunks of the frame.

A door, there had been a door here all this time.

And he never knew.  That wasn’t right.  Rubbing at his forehead with his uninjured hand Tony tried to thick.  Bright spots of white danced in his vision.  He had known.  He had seen it, he had never questioned it.  He had forgotten it.

“Sir!”

He ignored JARVIS’s call. He ignored the pain flaring in his hand and ran.  Down the tunnel where the lights flickered at shuttered.  He passed the bodies, blooded and broken.

He only stopped only when there was nowhere for him to go.  A pile of broken timbers and stone block him.  The beam of the flashlight illuminates every edge, he could feel the breeze.  He could smell the trees.

There has to be a way.

But a glimmer stops it all. He scans the base of the rock again, trying to see it one more time.

There.

A sliver shine where there should be browns and tans.

Tony moved carefully, brushed away the loose rock; a finger, an articulated metal finger to be precise, one that Tony knew too well. 

“J?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“The only life sign I am detecting is yours sir.”

He had sown the lies and the deceit.  He had promised the better tomorrow and the merest taste of freedom. 

He dug until his hands bled.  He shifted stones and cringed with every spill of gravel.

If he died, he would deserve it.

Hours or minutes or days but it was free.  Just an arm comes free.

A silver arm with the red star scrapped and pitted.  An arm where the connections are torn and pinched and the shoulder covered in blood and bits.

“Sir, I have recovered the files. “

He cradled it all the way back.  He held on to it when he watched the images. He took in the unmarked uniforms and the heavy weapons.  His lips curled watching James in action, the spray of blood and the fall of bodies.  But there had been too many even for a super soldier. 

He traced the outline of James’s face when they started to drag away the prone form.  He never flinched away from the bright light that filled the screen. 

One of them strayed too close to the camera. “Freeze image.” He snapped starring at the edges of the tattoo peeking out over the man’s collar. 

He felt hollow. He had nothing left.  No hope, no joy, nothing but the wasteland he had created.  He had sown it and he would reap it.

Logic. Reason.

Tony stood up.  He set the arm on the bit of table that remained.  He would look at it later.  He would need to know. 

Exhaustion clawed and pushed but he didn’t pay it any attention. 

“JARVIS activate the trackers.”  Time, this would all take time.

But that was all he had now.

“New File.” He said after a moment. “I think it’s time we step up our game.”

**“Mr. Stark what are your plans for SI?”**

**Tony flashed a smile all charm. “This is my father’s legacy. He built it, and shaped it. I will nurture it like he did.  I will care for it just like him. "  
**

“All the locations J. Pull everything we have on shipments, supplies and personnel.”

“Working.  What should I save this under?”

“Spite.” He said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this may seem OOC for Tony but keep in mind the journey we've been taking here. 
> 
> Tony’s memories are non-sequential and stream of conscious in this for a reason. It’s a good indicator of what is going on his head. The memories are only loosely connected they are more in line what he’s thinking about at the time than another story to tell.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...Here lie your hopes and dreams, shattered and swept aside...”  
> ― Dean Koontz, Saint Odd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this story. I appreciate all of you.  
> So here it is the final chapter and the only one not from Tony's POV. The POV changes in the sections so let me know if I need to label.

In his mind this place was a ruin of char and ash. The prison brought down.  No more marble, no more polished wood, nothing remained save blacked beams and cracked and scored stone.

In his mind, Hydra was exposed and the world scrambled. Governments paused in shock, agencies fought consumed with internal conflict.

And in his mind, there were no more chains.  Unfettered he could be free to live as he chose.  To be left alone, to wander where he willed without recognition, without bother. 

He could be.

In his mind, his dreams were still whole.

And in those dream someone stood by his side, someone walked with him.  He could hide in their shadow.  He could stand up tall because of their strength.  He could laugh or cry.  He could feel.

But those were just dreams, those were just hallucinations.

There was no one there.  The house still stood.

And he was still in chains.

And he was alone.

“Let’s go Happy.” He sighed climbing into the car. There was nothing there for him.  Dum-E was in transit.  JARVIS…JARVIS was already pulling the last traces of their presence out the computers.  Once Tony was gone the AI would scrub out the remaining pieces leaving not a trace or a hint.

There was nothing left here for them, or of them.  Had he wanted too much? Love, that was all he had really wanted, love and freedom.

And now he had neither.

The house disappeared from view Tony never looked back.  Fitting in a way, he mused. 

Starks kept their secrets. 

**

Nicolas Fury stared at the three people gathered around the conference table.  Just of the four of them around the large table seemed odd until one looked at the stacks of files near each person and the empty coffee cups.

Rubbing his forehead he looked at them again hoping that his was some sort of a joke.

“Has this been confirmed?” he asked keeping his voice neutral.  It wasn’t their fault.

“Yes sir.” Coulson bland delivery was a balm to his annoyance.  Howard Stark had been a force of nature, one of the founding fathers of SHIELD, his son…his son was a pain in his ass.  “The team reported in just before the meeting.  Stark left the Long Island mansion and boarded a SI jet for Malibu at 330 this afternoon.”

Fuck Stark, Fury braced his hands on the back of the chair.  The kid wasn’t his father.  He wasn't SHIELD. He was just another spoiled rich kid with too much money and not a lick of sense.  They had wasted hours upon hours with profilers and psychologists trying to get a read on him.  They had listened to the reports and followed the recommendation not to approach the kid.  He was too wild, too reckless and more interested in alcohol and sex;  all of Howard’s worst qualities and none of his better ones.

But…

This was the same kid that had graduated MIT at 16.  He had gone on in the wake of the death of his parents to earn two Ph.ds by the time he was 18.  He already held nearly a hundred patents.  That type of attention and focus didn’t match up with the public image.

Tony Stark was a contradiction alright.  The same experts that had compiled all those recommendations?  They had predicted that Stark would turn to more booze and parties in the wake of his parents’ deaths.  But the kid hadn’t.  He had moved into the god damned manor, the one place that none of those high priced soothsayers said he wouldn’t go.

It wasn’t that the kid had turned himself into some sort of recluse either.  That wasn’t what bothered Fury. No the kid still traveled and partied around the globe.  But the house was virtually impregnable. They had tried everything up to the brute force approach.  No files or papers that Howard may or may not have kept were worth tipping their hand that way.  But things that worked on some of most secured building in the world, those failed spectacularly.

“So what do your resident experts have to say about this new wrinkle?” He leveled a glare at Sitwell seated across from Coulson.  He didn’t miss Jasper’s resigned looked or the way he leafed through one of the folders with derision.

“Delayed response to his father’s death brought on by assumption of the CEO role.”

Fury really wanted to know how the other agent had managed to say that with a straight face.

He arched an eyebrow at that.  “So the highly priced know it alls are trying to say that Stark Jr abandoned the house he had lived in for five years and fortified to rival Ft Knox because of Daddy issues?”

No one laughed and no one interrupted.  They are all highly trained and decorated agents after all. 

“They also think that this was an impulsive decision and that we have only have a small window before he returns.”

Coulson shifted in his chair, and Phil never twitched. Just like the man didn't do uncertainty, but Fury was sure as hell seeing both right now.

“Spit it out Phil.” Fury growled.

“I don’t think this was impulsive.” Phil said opening his copy of the field team’s report. 

Pacing the room he gestured for the blond agent to continue. 

“Stark spent all that time and effort into securing the place.  We logged motion sensor, temperature and sonic devices.  The firewalls alone on the computer had been giving some of our computer folks nightmares –“

“The ones that aren’t in love with Stark’s computers.” Sitwell interjected.

And that was true.  The entire damn division was split if Stark was a demon or a saint, but they all knew talent when they saw it.  Some of them still wouldn't talk to Fury directly when he'd denied them the chance to cultivate and recruit that talent.

“And there was likely more.  But when he leaves there isn’t a trace of anything.  No server, no custom security system, no hardware, it is all gone.  Everything and anything that Tony Stark had hand was taken no even leaving a digital clue.”

Fury caught the implications before the other did. “This was planned?”

Phil nodded.  “I can’t say either the timing was or wasn’t last minute, but the execution and how meticulous it was?  That was a very careful and very detailed strategy.”

 He mused over that for a minute.  “Like a bug out plan with early warning.”

Coulson nodded.  “Something or someone did something to trigger this and I doubt it was taking on the CEO role.”

Fury grunted.  “Get another team in there; if Stark’s gone we need to take advantage of it. Let’s get a list of what Howard left behind.”

Hill nodded and began working up the orders.

Tony Fucking Stark was a pain in his ass.  This was just the sort of problem that teased you to put it away, to ignore it.  But it had those little fiddly bits that just nagged at you if you did.

He really didn’t have the resources to worry about one kid, CEO of a weapons company or not.  This was the kind of mystery you played with on off hours or when an agent needed a reminder of humility.

“Alright, put that to bed for now.  Sitwell do we have anything further on the Vienna Incident?”

That was mystery that needed solving and yesterday.  An entire Strike Team wiped out, no witnesses, no real clues, just gone.

“Preliminary team report says five agents confirmed KIA and four MIA.  Their files are on your desk.”

And entire Strike Team wiped out.  “Any idea of who or what?”

Sitwell passed over the thin, too thin folder.  “M.E. report is still early stages, but most of the bodies show signs of physical trauma and as well as the explosion.

“Tortured and then blown up?” Fury’s anger simmered and his voice grim.  Bad enough to lose the men at all, but not having any handle on what really happened? That was unacceptable.

“Parse won’t give a firm answer until all the autopsies are complete, but he did say that there as evidence of fighting not torture.”

“Update me when you get the final report. We need to get some idea of what could have taken down an entire team with leaving a trace.”

Switching gears again he looked toward Hill.

“Have we been able to find out anything more about this Mechanic?”  Another slightly more important item than Stark, this was someone SHIELD really needed to get a handle on.  If they could get some solid intel this one Fury was really thinking about either recruiting or …handling. 

“Механик.” She corrected simply pulling out the very thin and lackluster file.  “What we want to know is far out stripping what we do know.  He or if we want to be fair she, seems to have gotten their start as freelance contract worker specializing in computers and information retrieval.”

They all snorted at the PC way of saying “B&E to steal shit”.

“There are rumors, or at least unconfirmed reports that they’ve stepped up their game to sabotage and possible black ops.”

“How unconfirmed?” Sometimes people just didn’t want to be the source of intel, he’d gotten a new agent out that type of freelance worker…so maybe.

“Russian authorities are denying any and all inquiries into the loss of three former KGB information hubs.  Our reports show that in two of them all personnel were eliminated, all paper archives destroyed, and the computers slagged.”

Sitwell whistled.  “I thought that was counter revolutionary action.”

Hill just shrugged.  “It was thought to be until the analyst took a closer look at the computers. Those drives are completely unrecoverable.”

Fury nodded, that was a signature of the hacker. “Any idea of what the KGB might have been hiding there?”

The former Soviet Union was a mess, it made it both more and less difficult to get agents in and information out.

“We have several agents working that angle now…”

Fury listened to the flow of words and the give and take of his top agents.  This was what he needed the puzzle pieces that meant something, the problems that solving actually impacted history, not just the needs of a spoiled brat with daddy issues.

**

Pain.

It was his entire world now.  The human body could become accustom to it, addicted to it even.  It could be accepted as just a part of how things were.

His eyes opened. His vision blurred and swam.  He blinked without much thought trying to clear it.

The pain around him rose and fell pulling at him trying to force him back into darkness.

There was a cadence to it, a rhythm but he didn’t care.

His sight finally cleared just enough.  His arms jerked and his shoulder pulled but he couldn’t move.  He saw the brown eyes, those dark velvet eyes staring down at him.  The familiar dark brown hair tumbled down in front of those beloved features.  

But the lips, those lips he had kissed a hundred time where twisted into something he didn’t recognize, had never seen on that face, contempt, loathing.

They shape the words that pounded against his brain, that pulled at things he had thought long gone.

Rise and fall that voice, the tone that had once caressed him, flayed his nerves.

His eyelids felt so heavy, those banished commands rose up. 

“I don't want you." Tony whispered in his ear.  "I don't need you." Those nimble fingers traced his face. "I want the Asset now.”

All the emotion drained away, all the things he had felt and dream ripped asunder by those cruel callous words.   

Until there was nothing left, but the Asset.  

Out of sight two men stood watching.  They kept careful watch. They watched the blank faced man as he pulled and struggled before stilling completely.  They observed a few minutes longer enjoying the silence in the empty room.

“Thank you Dr. Faustus.”

“My pleasure, Undersecretary Pierce.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again THANK YOU!!!! 
> 
> So good new, as you can tell this is a series now as promised. I hope to have the first installment posted in a week so. But if editing goes well it might be sooner. I really hope everyone enjoyed this it was an interesting trip to write.


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